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THE OUTSIDER 


CHAPTER L 

“ HOLTON MANOR/' 

“ But who is she?” exclaimed Cecil Maltby, a tall* 
broad-shouldered dragoon, of the thorough Anglo-Saxon 
type, with a cascade of fair hair falling over his mouth* 
while the remainder of his face was clean shaved. 

“ You may well ask who she is, Cis,” rejoined Valentine 
Harwood. “ It is not often we see all the crack horsemen 
of the Bedminster cut down by a woman. I don't profess 
to ride, but I was near enough to-day to enjoy your discom- 
fiture. Why, you weren't within half a field of the fair 
unknown when they pulled the fox down. Fair! By Jove, 
she is! I saw her at the cover-side, and if she isn't a 
pretty woman, I never saw one.'' 

“ Yes, Val," rejoined a slight, pale little man, with dark 
eyes and a somewhat cynical mouth, “ you do hit upon the 
truth sometimes, and it's just three years ago since she was 
voted one of the crack beauties of the season — her first, by 
the way. " He smoked on in silence for a minute or so* 
and then said: “ Do you mean to say none of you fellows 
knew her?' ' 

“ No,” replied Maltby. “ I wasn't in town that season. 
Who is she?” 

“ The lady who cut you all down to-day is Mrs. Wel- 
stead," replied Charley Wrey, slowly. 


6 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ What, Algy Welstead 's wife? Why, they are separat- 
ed, are they not?” remarked Harwood, 

“ Yes / 9 replied Wrey, dryly. 

“ But what did rumor assign as the reason of their sepa- 
ration?” asked Malt by. 

“ Rumor, as usual, had plenty of reasons to give. Hugh 
Musgrave was a good deal about her that year, and, as you 
know, Algy Welstead was not the man to put himself out 
of the way to do escort duty. Mrs. Welstead made her 
appearance by herself at many a ball and entertainment. 
She had no lack of admirers, but she- certainly accorded 
more favor to Hugh Musgrave than any one. Of course 
their names were coupled, but even scandal went no fur- 
ther than prophesying evil to come from that flirtation. 
Next year brought the news that the Welsteads laid agreed 
to live apart, and the lady appeared no more in London. 
There were all sorts of reports as to what had become of 
her, but nobody seemed to know where she was. As for 
Algy, he went on as usual. You met him on every race- 
course and at his usual haunts in town. But Algy's not 
blessed with the sweetest of tempers, and the few who vent- 
ured to make delicate inquiries concerning Mrs. Welstead 
were pretty sharply given to understand that his ( Wel- 
stead' ’s) domestic affairs were no business pf theirs.” 

“ I suppose scaudal did not insinuate that Hugh Mus- 
grave had anything to do with it?” inquired Maltby, as he 
settled his lengthy frame rather more luxuriously on the 
sofa he had appropriated to his own use. 

“No,” rejoined Wrey, “ and I shouldn't recommend 
you ever to drop a hint that it had, in Musgrave' s presence. 
I heard young Granvil vaguely conjecturing that Mrs. 
Welstead had perhaps found some one to console her for her 
husband's neglect, and Hugh Musg rave's face got black as 
thunder. ‘You have not been long about, Granvil/ he 
said, ‘and therefore don't know either Wei stead's past or 
present life. If you did you wouldn't throw mud at a 


THE OUTSIDER. 


7 


woman because she found it impossible to live with him.* 
And with that he turned on his heel and left the smoking- 
room.” 

“ Hugh Musgrave said that?” remarked Val Harwood* 
“ He is a thoroughly good fellow, and straight as a die. 
What’s your own opinion, Wrey?” 

“ My opinion is this, that unless you want your neck 
broken you had better not mention Mrs. Welstead’s name 
before Musgrave, save with respect. I have no great opin- 
ion of women, as you know, but I can’t believe that any 
one of them would have married Algy Welstead, had she at 
all known what he really was.” 

% Yes,” rejoined Malfcby, “I could fancy Algy Wei- 
stead’s wife would have a rough time of it.” 

The scene of the above conversation was the smoking- 
room at Holton Manor, the seat of Roderick Harwood, Es- 
quire, M. P. for that division of the county, J. P., Deputy- 
Lieutenant, in short, one of the leading magnates of 
Barkshire, and the subject of the conversation was, as may 
have been gathered, a very pretty woman, who, attired in 
a faultless habit, riding a thorough-bred bay mare, and at- 
tended by an elderly but equally well-mounted groom, had 
astonished the members of the Bedminster Hunt by ap- 
pearing at the meet that morning, and who, having had the 
luck to get a capital start, had been right in front from 
find to finish. Who she was, no one had the slightest con- 
jecture, until Charley Wrey enlightened his two companions 
in the smoking-room. He had recognized the face, but 
had been unable to put a name to it, or the probability is 
that Mrs. Welstead’s identity would have been speedily 
whispered through the field. A face and form too, that 
men were not likely to forget easily — wondrous fair, with 
deep, earnest, gray eyes, and a profusion of ruddy golden 
hair, that almost defied all efforts to coil it under the neat 
riding-hat, a well-rounded petite figure, which the close- 
htting habit showed to perfection. Small wonder men 


THE OUTSIDER. 


8 

asked who she was, and when they saw the way she rode, 
their cariosity on that point became boundless. She had 
acknowledged the master’s compliments with a graceful 
bow, and upon the arrival of her groom, who had con- 
trived, though at some considerable distance, to keep his 
mistress in view, had turned her horse and trotted off, ap- 
parently in the direction of the station. 

Holton Manor was a large, irregular pile, which might 
strictly be called of the composite order of architecture. It 
looked as if whenever a Harwood thought he required 
another room or tsvo, he had built it on to the house ac- 
cording to his own fancy. The Harwoods had been at 
Holton for some hundred and fifty years, but the present 
house had been built in the early part of the century, and 
had, as before said, been added to hap-hazard, without the 
slightest regard to the rules of architecture. It need 
scarcely be said, under those circumstances, that you were 
always going up or coming down a step or two, the invaria- 
ble result of such desultory building. Strangers to Holton 
Manor were apt to make most headlong entrances into the 
billiard- room, library, etc., and to Hounder about the pas- 
sages in a perfectly pantomimic fashion. A most bewilder- 
ing house to the uninitiated. Maltby on his first visit 
there vowed that it was as intricate as the Maze at Hamp- 
ton, but upon that occasion he had lost his way, aud after 
opening two or three wrong doors had only gained his bed- 
room after twenty minutes' seeking: in short, as he said 
afterward, he ran all the perils that Mr. Pickwick encount- 
ered on a like memorable occasion. 

But with these drawbacks it was a very comfortable old 
pile, full just now to the roof with a joyous party, who 
were polishing off the last of the squire’s jiheasants and* 
hunting just as many times a week as their horses could 
compass. The trio we saw in the smoking-room were but 
the residue of what had been rather a full parliament, and 
in which the performance and 44 points ” of the unknown 


THK OUTSIDER. 


9 


apiazo.a. had been freely discussed. Why Charley Wrey 
had thought fit to keep his knowledge to himself, he alone 
knewbest, but it was not till he found himself alone with 
two of his particular cronies that he thought fit to unbosom 
himself. He was a somewhat singular being, very popular 
with those who knew him intimately, and very much re- 
spected by those who did not, for he had a waspish tongue 
when annoyed; but he was when he chose an amusing 
though somewhat cynical talker, and had been from his 
youth up a good deal behind the scenes of London Society, 
From— 

‘ * Its lilies and languors of virtue, 

To its raptures and roses of vice ” 

t ; . t 

he understood it all thoroughly. He had a fair fortune 
when first launched upon town, and had the sense to put 
aside his juvenile follies before he had spent more than half 
of it. So, though he had lived with a very wild set in his 
youth he had but singed his wings, badly it may be, but he 
was still left very comfortably off. 

Roderick Harwood had but two children, Valentine Har- 
wood and his sister Julia. Valentine was of an indolent, 
somewhat selfish temperament, a very Sybarite in every- 
thing regarding his own comfort, a great contrast to his 
frank, energetic, high-spirited sister. He did most things 
pretty well when he took the trouble, was a fair rider and 
a very nice shot; but Valentine Harwood had no idea of 
riding to cover in a drizzling rain with the promise of a 
thorough wet day before him; he held the game was not 
worth the candle under such circumstances. Similarly he 
had no idea of a walk after wild partridges. If he shot, he 
liked the game to be plentiful and the pursuit of it attend- 
ed with as little personal exertion as possible, and was wont 
to be bitter in the extreme about people who issued invita- 
tions “ when they had nothing to shoot/’ albeit keener 
sportsmen might have pronounced it a very pretty day. 


10 


THE . OUTSIDER. 


Not a particularly pleasant person you will think from this 
description, and yet Yal Harwood was a fairly popular 
man. He was never out of temper, could make himself 
agreeable in his own indolent fashion, and was always will- 
ing to do a good-natured turn to any one, if it did not mili- 
tate against his own comfort. In a country house he was 
intractable on one point. He could never be brought to 
take part in those petitesjeux by which despairing hostesses 
are apt to try and relieve the tedium of “ a wet spell.” 
But Val would defend himself ingeniously on this point. 

“ My dear lady,” he would say, “ you must have an 
audience. Now Providence has clearly indicated that to be 
my place in this world. I never was intended for a chief 
actor, but as an appreciative part of the audience I am in 
my proper sphere, and can take all possible interest in your 
meritorious exertions.” 

Whether it was the contemplation of Algy Welstead's 
iniquities, past, present, and to come, that threw an awed 
silence over the room, I know not, but it is certain that the 
trio smoked on without speaking for some minutes, then 
Malt by said: 

“ What has become of Musgrave, Wrey? I never saw or 
heard of him all last year.” 

“ No, poor fellow! The smash was complete. He told 
me just before the Cesarewitch that nothing but Kantipole's 
winning could save him, and you know he was beaten by a 
neck. Hugh stood to win an immense stake over it, and 
had that come off no doubt the crash would have been post- 
poned for some time, but I doubt whether it would have 
been averted.” 

“ Pd no idea it was as bad as that,” remarked Val. 

“ He's only some few hundreds a year left, with which 
to vegetate in foreign parts. Several of his friends offered 
to see him through it, but he said his losses over B antipole 
were a mere nothing, comparatively, that he had backed 
the horse at long odds, and a couple of thousand represent- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


11 


I 

ed his stake. I heard afterward that he would have won 
between fifty and sixty thousand, had it come off, but his 
liabilities were father over a hundred thousand/’ 

“ Then I suppose The Towers must go, if it hasn't 
already gone!" said Maltby. “ Poor Hugh! He'll feel 
parting with the old family place bitterly." 

“ Yes; about the last words he said to me were: ‘ I hope 
to Heaven they'll manage to save The Towers. I can't 
. bear to think of its going into other hands.' " 

Another good man gone wrong,' " said Harwood, half 
musingly. “ By Jove! I wonder what infatuation makes 
men back horses! It always ends in one way for a gentle- 
man. How many fellows have I seen vanish into obscurity 
even in my time, and, as Hood sings, c all through a-back- 
ing of the favorite.' I suppose, Maltby, you'll be the next 
to join the Broke Brigade?" 

“Gad, I hope not," replied the dragoon, “though I 
found the ‘ backing of the favorite ' a very unprofitable 
pursuit last season." 

“ I am afraid your small sermon won't do him much 
good, Harwood," said Wrey, grinning. “Gambling in 
some shape has gone on since the world began; at all events 
since Joseph went down into Egypt, and made that success- 
ful little speculation in corn." 

“ Don't you fellows think it's time to go to bed?" said 
Val. “ It's getting late, and though it's the end of the 
season, there really are some birds in the covers we shoot 
to-morrow. Wrey seems to think my oratory thrown away 
upon you, Maltby. I can only say," continued Val, 
laughing as he lighted the bedroom candles, “ I have done 
my best to reclaim you." 

“ Oh, no doubt I'm a d d fool," said Maltby, as they 

ascended the stairs, “ but I'm not sure we fools don't get 
more enjoyment out of life than more prudent people. I 
love racing and- can't help wagering on it, but don't let 


/ 


IV 


THE OUTSIDE K. 


anxiety on my behalf keep either of you awake. I can 
take care of myself. Good-night. ” 

And here the trio separated in search of their respective 
chambers. 

We have all our own ideas of Christian names. We have 
our theories of what sort of women the Lucys and Julias of 
this world should be, aud despite their perpetually turning 
out the very antithesis of what according to our imagina- 
tion they should be, we still cling to our old ideals and 
console ourselves with that time-honored fallacious adage 
that “ the exception proves the rule. ” Similarly the Dicks 
and Charleys of every-day life are endowed with a fanciful 
character in our minds which they continually belie. 

Now the lord of Holton Manor offered a splendid con- 
firmation of this theory. From time immemorial the 
Rodericks have been regarded as choleric. In fiction, from 
Roderick Dhu downward, nobody has ever ventured to de- 
pict a soft-hearted, mild-tempered Roderick, and nobody 
could ever have accused the vehement, tempestuous, pas- 
sionate squire of erring on the side of meekness. lie was 
inflammable as gunpowder, and harmless as sheet lightning. 
Strangers shrunk aghast from the violence of the continual 
explosions, but those who knew Roderick Harwood only 
smiled at the volcanic eruption. Neither his son nor his 
daughter were in the least afraid of him in these moods, 
while his dependents bore his objurgations in silence, and 
remarked to each other that it was 4 4 only the squired 
way . 99 

The father and son by no means pulled well together. 
The latter's indolent nature was a source of perpetual irrita- 
tion to his energetic, vehement father. He did not under- 
stand a man who took his sport so coolly, and one whom, 
apparently, 

“ No sense of wrong could rouse to vengeance.’' 

Then, again, the father was a Conservative of the fine old 
violent Tory type, while the son possessed Liberal opinions; 


THE OUTSIDER. 


18 


so that, upon the whole, storms, I will not call them quar- 
rels — Y uVs even temper forbade that, besides his perfect 
understanding of his father's nature— were frequent be- 
tween the pair. 

With Julia Harwood it was different; the squire was de- 
voted to his daughter, and she, like most daughters under 
the circumstances, could twist him round her finger. As 
for Mrs; Harwood, she was a nonentity. She had never 
understood her husband in their early married life, and had 
suffered herself to be frightened into the background by his 
constant, but harmless, ebullitions of wrath, and there she 
had remained ever since. 


CHAPTER II. 

U THEA WELSTE AD,”* 

About two miles from Toxeter stood in a large garden 
of its own a very pretty villa. There were numerous 
houses of the same class dotted about within a radius of 
three miles from the quiet, pretty little country town, all 
noticeable for the extensive stabling accommodation they 
possessed in proportion to their size. For Toxeter was a 
great hunting center, where from November to April, as 
Whyte Melville sings: 

“ The business of life was to hunt every day. 

While the nights must take care of themselves as they may.” 

Red coats were plentiful all through the town during the 
winter season, and all topics were subservient to the all- 
absorbing one of fox-hunting. What was the fate of the 
Ministry compared to what had been done with the Top- 
chester hounds? and who cared about our delicate negotia- 
tions with Russia, as be listened to an eye-witnesses narra- 
tion of a rattling run with the Red minster? For there 


14 


TIIE OUTSIDER. 


were half a dozen packs of hounds more or less within reach 
of Toxeter, while the rail offered much facility for the 
reaching of distant meets, and training to cover was much 
in vogue with those who made it their hunting quarters. 

Dallying over their dessert in the dining-room of the 
aforementioned villa were the heroine of the last chapter 
and an elderly lady, a Mrs. Desmond. Although Dorothea 
Welstead usually addressed her as auntie, she was in reality 
not in the least related to her. Mrs. Desmond was a widow 
lady, in reduced circumstances, who was only too glad to 
augment her scanty income and share Mrs. Welstead’s 
comfortable home by acting as her companion and manag- 
ing the household, leaving Dorothea full leisure to superin- 
tend her stud, and indulge in her favorite diversion. 

“ Such a glorious gallop as it was, auntie, and I was in 
such luck. I got a splendid start, and old Peter had 
picked up, as he always does, who were their best men, a^nd 
pointed out the one Pd best follow, and when he said he 
was a Mr. Lester, the racing lore I learned during my mis- 
erable married life stood to me, and I knew at once that he 
was the crack gentleman rider. I rode as I never rode be- 
fore, you needs must if you take Mr. Lester for a pilot, 
and I don’t think he was ever more than a dozen lengths 
ahead of me all the time. As soon as he found out I was 
following him, which, of course, he very soon did, he was 
most courteous. At the first check, which lasted a bare 
two minutes, he raised his hat, and said, 4 1 am only too 
happy to be your pilot; with your pluck, and that horse, 
nothing’s too big for you that’s not too big for me.’ And 
then we were away again. Once only did he shout back a 
word of warning, but my blood was up, and there was 
nothing I would not have ridden at if he gave me the lead. 
Oh! auntie, it was a big place. I thought we were never 
coming down again. Dear old Birdlime, I wouldn’t take 
double the money I gave for her. She’s coquettish as a 
woman too, and will sometimes, when we’re pottering 


THE OUTSIDER. 


15 


about, make quite a fuss about jumping a small fence, but 
she never turns her head when hounds are running.” 

■“I am glad you had such a good day, Thea. It was 
rather a wild speculation going all that way by rail. ” 

“ Yes, but I’d never seen that side of the country, nor, 
for the matter of that, the Bedminster hounds. I ought 
not to offer an opinion, because I enjoyed, perhaps, an ex- 
ceptional day with them, but they’re a better pack than 
the Topchester, I think, and undoubtedly the whole thing’s 
better done. But what did you do with yourself all day:” 

“ Walked into Toxeter after lunch, did a little shopping, 
and ordered some fresh books from the library,” replied 
Mrs. Desmond. 

“ I’m afraid you have a very dull time of it, auntie, and 
— alas! my dull time is coming too. The hunting is very 
nearly over, and then, ah! then ‘ Othello’s occupation’s 
gone.’ Come into the other room, and let’s have some 

tea. ” 

Mrs. Desmond was as good-natured, well-meaning a 
woman as it was possible to conceive, but to a hot-tem- 
pered, vehement nature like Thea’s she was at times a lit- 
tle trying. 

“ You must find other occupation now that the hunting 
is over, ” she said, as she busied herself with the tea-pot. 
“You know I think you devote yourself more to that pur- 
suit than is quite befitting a lady.” 

“ Don’t grumble, auntie,” rejoined Thea, impatiently. 
“ It s the one thing that takes me out of myself. In a 
moment of madness I threw my life away. I have no 
right to complain. I despise myself for the contemptible 
weakness that I yielded to. I have made oj>en confession 
to you too often to make any mystery of things now. In a 
moment of pique I accepted a wealthy man, whom I did 
not love, but I meant honestly to do my duty by him, and 
would, if he had let me. The scales fell from my eyes be- 


16 


THE OUTSIDER. 


fore three months were over, and I knew that my life was 
irretrievably wrecked, that I had to play the part of a neg- 
lected wife as proudly as I could, and shut my eyes to my 
husband's infidelities." 

“ Nobody has ever breathed a word against you, Thea; 
nobody denies that you did your duty by Mr. Welstead as 
long as any woman with self-respect could have remained 
with him. " 

u Nobody breathes a word against me," cried Thea, pas- 
sionately. “ No; but I am socially tabooed wherever I go. 
Men know me in the hunting-field and would be very glad 
to know me here if I gave them the slightest encourage- 
ment, but their Wives and daughters won't know me. I 
am ‘ that Mrs. Welstead, separated from her husband, you 
know '—that is how they speak of me. No matter what 
wrongs, what insults she may have endured, the woman 
who declines to live longer with the husband who is mak- 
ing: her life a shame and a burden to her is always at 
fault. " 

44 The world is apt to be unjust where our sex is con- 
cerned," replied Mrs. Desmond, in those sententious meas- 
ured tones that sometimes almost prompted Thea to shake 
her. 

44 Unjust!" she exclaimed, contemptuously. 44 Yes! 
Are matrons with plain though marriageable daughters 
likely to extend the hand of friendship to a young and 
pretty woman, who by separating from her husband has 
given them the right to dub her a free lance and to reject 
her from their own more regular ranks? I trow not 
They’re little likely to forego their advantage. Ah! I'm 
punished, rightly punished. If I had only had faith," she 
murmured, rising from her chair and pacing the room 
rapidly. 44 But I thought you had trifled with me, Hugh, 
and never dreamed of what closed your lips. Had I but 
known I had your love, 1 could have waited patiently till 
things came round. Tod late. t<»«> late,” she murmured, 


THE OUTSIDER. 


17 


plain tively, as the tears welled into her eyes, and she con- 
tinued her impetuous pacing. 

Mrs* Desmond knew better than to interfere further till 
the storm had worn itself out; but, as she glanced furtively 
at poor Thea in her restless walk, and marked the fair 
flushed face, well-rounded figure, and the wealth of hair 
that crowned the little head, she could not but admit that 
mothers of marriageable daughters were wise in their gen- 
eration, when, taking advantage of their opportunity, they 
laid an interdict upon Mrs. Welstead. 

Toxeter, like all country towns, was scandalous; that 
means perhaps more correctly that in these limited com- 
munities every one is acquainted with the doings of his 
neighbor, and, as we all know, our neighbor’s delinquencies 
are invariably discussed with infinitely more relish than his 
good deeds. The Welsteads had been too well known in 
the London world for the story of their judicial separation 
not to be common property, although the exact cause of it 
had never transpired; but Toxeter knew all about it, and 
Toxeter and its neighborhood had decided that a woman 
living apart from her husband was not to be called upon; 
enforcing their decision with various wise saws to the effect 
that there was no smoke without fire, that a wife’s place 
was by her husband’s side, etc. 

Fiercely did Thea pace her little drawing-room, as she 
mused on the slights that had been put upon her since she 
had lived apart from her husband. Her passionate little 
heart protested against the injustice with which the world 
metes out its punishment for such offending in most cases 
on the woman, without any knowledge of the facts, in utter 
ignorance of what she may have to urge in justification of 
the course she has taken. Then her features softened as 
her thoughts roamed back to the ivy and creeper-draped 
old rectory near Dorchester that had been her home for so 
many years. The quaint, old-fashioned garden, with its 
high walls, with its beds full of such flowers as our great- 


18 


THE OUTSIDER. 


grandmothers loved, all growing in tangled luxuriance; 
very different from the prim bedded -out parterres of to- 
day. The high old red-brick walls dotted with peach, 
apricot and nectarine, as summer melted into autumn, and, 
above all, the broad, shady walks, up and down which she 
had delighted to wander with Hugh Musgrave’s stalwart 
figure by her side. Ah! what golden dreams she had then ! 
Purely Hugh loved her, and surely lie would tell her so ere 
many more days were over her head ! Then came a note 
to say good-bye — a note which, though it made no positive 
declaration, still breathed love in every line — in which he 
said that he wrote the adieu he had not courage to speak 
on the previous evening; how that business called him 
away, but he should hope to see her again ere long. Two 
years passed ere she was destined to see Hugh Musgrave 
again, and then she was a bride, in all the flush of a tri- 
umphant debut in her first London season. How well she 
recollected the grave, courteous salute with which he" greet- 
ed her. Ah ! it was only by degrees she understood the 
truth. In the quiet Dorsetshire parsonage they had little 
knowledge of how went the fray with those who lived in 
the great London world, and it was not till she too became 
of that world, she learned that Hugh Musgrave's embar- 
rassments had placed it well-nigh out of his power to ask 
for the hand of any woman in marriage. 

When she first realized that he was not coming back to 
her, when she first awoke to the fact that she had lost him, 
she felt that deadly sickness and despair that a great grief 
is wont to bring upon us. She did not care much what 
became of her. The spring was out of her life. The sun- 
shine had vanished from her existence. We laugh at the 
idea of a love-sick maiden, but there are passionate natures 
of both sexes that take such disappointments hardly. It is 
always better for the man than the woman. He has his 
work, or can, at all events, plunge into the world and seek 
distraction, but for a girl situated like Thea Charlton, in- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


19 


mate of a quiet country rectory, what was there: Nothing 
hut, in the old parlance, “ to eat her heart out. ” It mad- 
dened her. How she bore it she knew not, when, in an 
evil hour, at a ball in the neighborhood, she met ATgy 
Welstead. He was struck with her beauty, and, accus- 
tomed to be welcomed with smiles, and even hawked at by 
young ladies on promotion, he was still more struck by her 
utter indifference. It piqued him. He was a gentlemanly, 
rather good-looking man, with a rent roll of ten thousand 
a year, and as such, despite an evil reputation morally, 
esteemed a prize in the matrimonial market. He exercised 
all his powers of pleasing to ingratiate himself with Miss 
Charlton. Thea felt that she could endure the monotony 
of the rectory no longer; anything that would take her out 
of herself she would welcome. Welstead succeeded. He 
could offer her change of scene and all the distractions 
wealth could procure. He could help her to forget. He 
did not win her heart, but he did her hand, and to a vicious 
cold-blooded sensualist such as Welstead, that amply suf- 
ficed. Real love for a woman was a thing he was incapable 
of feeling. 

That such a marriage should turn out a miserable mis- 
take was only what might be expected. The two had noth- 
ing in common, and Welstead’s scarce concealed infidelities 
speedily destroyed what respect Thea had ever felt for her 
husband. Bitterly had she repented of her momentary 
madness. Better to have endured the monotony of her old 
home, than to be chained for life to a man she despised. 
One pleasure, only, had come to Thea from her marriage, 
and that was a very liberal command of horseflesh. She 
had always been passionately fond of riding; but had never 
enjoyed the luxury of a horse of her own. Her father kept 
a couple of useful cobs, which went in saddle or harness as 
required, and one or other of these had generally been at 
Theate disposal; but when she married, a couple of riding- 
horses were put apart for her exclusive use. Welstead had 


TO 


THE OUTSIDER. 


faults enough to answer for, but he was not mean. A 
blase man of five-and-thirty, who had “ run every pleasure 
down,” and to whom the pursuit of the prize had afforded 
the chief pleasure, he speedily wearied of his beautiful 
wife, and betook himself to his old haunts and courses. 

“ The painted toy so fiercely sought, 

Had lost its charm by being caught,” 

and Algernon Welstead was speedily, after his old fashion, 
immersed in some fresh intrigue. But if he went his own 
way, he was so consistent that he left his wife to go hers, 
and scandal would have run far higher against Mrs. Wel- 
stead during her first season, had the world known of her 
previous passages with Hugh Musgrave. So neglected as 
Thea was by her husband, it was well that season did not 
end in one of those explosions that are wont to startle 
society ever and anon. But that Hugh Musg rave's love 
was loyal, and that he exercised marvelous self-control, it 
was possible that Thea in her unhappiness might have been 
tempted to leave her husband, ere she had been a twelve- 
month married. Then came Musgrave's final ruin and dis- 
appearance. The two had never met since, and it was well, 
perhaps, for both of them it was so. That Welstead rather 
neglected his wife had been patent to the world that first 
year; but Thea was not the woman to parade her troubles, 
and covered her husband's shortcomings to the extent of 
her ability. Had Musgrave, at that time, known how her 
pride was continually outraged, it is probable that the 
words which continually surged to his lips would have been 
spoken, and the romance of Tliea's life would have closed 
in one brief, sad chapter; but Hugh Musgrave was spared 
the bitter knowledge that the woman he loved was under- 
going shameful ill-treatment from the man she had mar- 
ried. He was not altogether unaware of Welstead 's marital 
transgressions; but he knew the man, and believed, at all 
events, he had the decency to keep them from his wife's 
ears. 


THE OUTSIDE!?. 


21 

Four years had elapsed since Thea had paced that walk 
in the rectory garden with Hugh Musgrave, and two since 
she had separated from her husband. One year's miserable 
life was her married experience, and now she finds herself 
a semi-outcast from society, and a target for every evil- 
tongued woman she may come across. Algernon Welstead 
had behaved liberally with regard to the allowance he as- 
signed her. He was, perhaps, somewhat weary of the con- 
jugal fetters, little as he had allowed them to chafe him, 
and, as before said, he was not a mean man in money mat- 
ters. 


CHAPTER III. 

(( THE LOW PLANTATIONS.” 

“ Good-morning, Captain Maltby/' said Julia Har- 
wood, as, attired in most correct shooting costume, that 
nonchalant dragoon put in a rather late appearance in the 
dining-room the next morning. 

“ Good-morning, Miss Harwood,” replied Cis, as he 
took her proffered hand. “ Rather behind time, I'm 
afraid, but I can always breakfast in seven minutes.” 

££ Well, I will pour out your tea while you forage on the 
sideboard. Believe me, you've no time to spare. Every- 
body's down and done breakfast but you, and papa,” said 
the young lady, dropping her voice, “ is already on the 
fidget. ” 

‘ £ Thanks, no end,” replied Maltby, as he wandered 
vaguely across to the side-table, with a dim consciousness 
that about half a bucket of strong tea would meet all his 
requirements, and an inward anathema against that last 
cigar. 

’* You will have to do your devoir to-day, Captain Malt- 
by,'' observed Miss Harwood, as Cis returned from his ex- 
cursion with a wing of a boiled chicken, which he was mak- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


22 

ing a vehicle for cayenne pepper and mustard. 44 Old 
Dickenson and papa have been at issue about the shooting 
of the low plantations for the last six weeks; Dickenson, 
wlit/s obstinate as a mule, insisting upon it that both 
pheasants and hares were 4 wasting,* as he terms it, and 
papa vowing that was all nonsense, and that he would keep 
it to wind up the season with." 

44 Well, Miss Harwood," rejoined Cis, laughing, 44 we'll 
all do our best, but I’m bound to tell you that Dickenson 
has got much the best of the argument, insomuch as he 
can prove his case. If a keeper don't mean you to kill 
game, you won't, you may depend upon it." 

44 But you don't think Dickenson would dare to play 
such tricks as that?" cried Julia. 44 Papa always wishes to 
show his guests the best sport he can. " 

44 An old keeper is apt to be an obstinate beast, Miss 
Harwood," said Cis, as he gulped down a second cup of 
tea, 44 and when he's had an argument will risk his place 
for the sake of saying, 4 Well, I tould you how it'd be, 
sir. ’ " 

44 But what can we do?" asked Miss Harwood, half 
laughing and half annoyed. 

44 Always conclude that sort of argument with a keeper 
by giving him to understand if you don't kill the pheasants 
you expect, he goes. Secondly, never keep a servant more 
than live years at the outside; he's always useless, and 
usually insolent, by that time." 

44 And pray is that the way you treat your servants, Cap- 
tain Maltby?" inquired Julia, much amused. 

44 Of course it isn't," replied Cis, gravely. 44 I've go't 
one fellow I've sent away six times, and lie's with me yet. 
He gets into the guard* room, and goes back to the ranks 
now and again for a time, but lie comes back in due course, 
like a protested bill. He's my old man of the sea, Miss 
Harwood. I never expect to be free from him." 

But further conversation was cut short by the impatient 


THE OUTSIDER, 


23 


voice of the squire in the hall, who was loudly calling upon 
his laggard guns to keep their tryst, and to remember how 
short the days were. 

££ That means me/’ said Maltby, rising. ££ We shall 
see you down with the luncheon, I hope?*' 

££ Oh, yes; we are all coming to count the slain and 
minister to your necessities, till which time, monsieur, I 
bid you adieu/* and sweeping him a mock courtesy, Julia 
vanished through a side door which led to the terrace. 

It was the very day for cover shooting; a bright January 
day, with a slight north-east wind just swaying the trees, 
and so to some extent muffling the approach of the beaters. 
On those very still days, when the dead branch that 
crackles under one's feet can be heard afar off, the hares 
and pheasants (is there any bird more cunning than an old 
cock pheasant — a wild bred one I mean) scent danger in 
the distance, and are off betimes, and when fairly alarmed 
the most scientific stopping will fail to deter the more 
crafty of fur or feather from what our cousins term ££ mak- 
ing tracks. " J ulia Harwood and the other ladies stood on 
the terrace watching the party, as in irregular line they 
made their way across the park, and almost at once the 
fusillade opened. Outlying hares leaped noiselessly from 
their forms and loped away in that deceiving style that be- 
guiles the neophyte into shooting well behind them, they 
look to be going so slow, and yet they are stealing over the 
ground in marvelous fashion,, But though the half-dozen 
guns are “ workmen," and though the killing hares clean 
at five-and -thirty yards* rise is a sharp test of a man's 
shooting, they respond to it but indifferently to all appear- 
ance, many of the hares simply quickening their pace in 
answer to the shot. 

Hear me," exclaimed a Miss Skelton, who was among 
the spectators on the terrace, ££ they are shooting very bad- 
ly. What a shocking waste of cartridges. " 

£ * You can't tell from here, Lucy; it's the most decep- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


U 


tive piece of shooting in England. Let them shoot as 
straight as their gun barrels, hares at that distance will 
always carry on a bit before they roll over. The moment 
they top the crest of the rise we lose sight of them, but 
most of those you think have got away scathless will be 
probably picked up dead just over the ridge. '' 

The shooting-party like the hares speedily disappeared 
over the ridge, and the ladies returned to the house to 
amuse themselves as best they might till such time as it 
would be necessary to start for luncheon, which it was 
arranged should take place at the end of a cover about a 
mile and a half from Holton Manor. The promise of the 
early morning had so far been kept. The day was still fair 
for the business in hand, and, for once, the master seemed 
to have known better than the man. Despite his evil 
auguries, so far, Dickenson was forced to acknowledge that 
the low plantations had not deteriorated, although the 
shooting of them had been left till the very end of the sea- 
son, and, more wonderful still, that veteran grumbler was 
satisfied with the performance of 4 4 the guns. ” For once 
his satellites missed the sarcastic commentary that usually 
dropped from the old man's lips: 

44 What's the use of getting up game for a lot of tailors 
as can't kill it when they sees it? It makes me sick to see 
my pheasants tinkered like this. Yah! there goes another 
away with a leg down.” 

But these 44 gay mornings ” are wont to end in grewsome 
evenings, and there was destined, speaking metaphorically, 
to be lightning in the skies before the shooting of the low 
plantations was got done with. 

It uth less had been the destruction of fur and feather. 
The party could all shoot 4 4 above a bit/' and there was 
little that ought fairly to have been brought to hand that 
escaped them. Still, the great object of a sportsman's 
ambition, a woodcock, had not yet been gathered. Two 
or three had been seen, indeed fired at; but it had fceto 


THE OUTSIDER. 


25 


rattier on tlie principle advocated by a dear old friend of 
mine , ■“ always shoot at a woodcock if he's in the same 
parish with you,” than for any chance there had been of 
knocking them over. Maltby was the man destined to 
secure the coveted distinction of the first “ cock,” and he 
arrived at it in singular fashion. His quick eye detected a 
hare stealing away through the briers in front of him. His 
barrel rang out, over rolled the hare, while at the same 
moment a bird rose some three feet above the under cover, 
and immediately dropped again. He had actually shot a 
woodcock on the ground, and in picking it up the com- 
panion bird was flushed, which also Maltby secured. 

And now they are nearing the end of the cover, by the 
side of which luncheon is awaiting them. It is a pretty 
spot; the cover runs along the side of an artificial lake, 
studded with islets, from which it is separated only by a 
broad grass drive, and coming along that ride is Maltby, 
who has been put outside the plantation, as it narrows to a 
point, and is now accompanied by Miss Skelton and Julia 
Harwood. The game are penned like the famous six hun- 
dred at Balaklava, “ Guns to the right of them, guns to 
the left of them, ” and are being mowed down much as our 
gallant Light Brigade was on that glorious but fatal field. 
Suddenly leaps from the cover a hare, maddened with 
fright; for a second he turns forward up the cover-side, 
only to be headed back by the discovery that there are peo- 
ple in his front; he turns abruptly in his tracks, only to be 
confronted by Maltby and his fair companions; for a second 
lie is irresolute, then jumps back into the cover, only to 
once more immediately leap out again, and then, with a 
cry of terror, the panic-stricken animal plunged into the 
lake and swam boldly in the direction of the nearest 
islet. 

“ Shoot, sir, here in the lake!” shout the beaters. 

“ Shoot, Captain Maltby!” reiterate the shrill tones of 
Miss Skelton. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


26 


Julia Harwood said nothing; but a pained expression 
shot across her face as Cis half raised his gun. 

“ No, hang it!” he said, dropping it. “ He deserves his 
life, poor brute; a hare's sore put to it when he risks 
drowning.” 

‘ c Ali! Thank you, Captain Maltby,” said Julia. 
“ That poor wretch deserved to go scathless. There is po 
mistake about it. 

* Your tineliel cows the game,’ ” 

she continued, with a smile, and half ashamed of her late 
display of emotion. 

“Yes,” rejoined Cis, “I fancy that hare possesses a 
peculiarly nervous organization. ” 

“ So would you, sir, if you were hunted like that; I be- 
lieve that hare owes its life to woman's soothing influence,” 
and Julia stopped in some little confusion as she remem- 
bered she had said nothing, and that Miss Skelton had ad- 
vocated the hare’s destruction. 

An amused smile pla} T ed on Cis’s face for a moment. 

“Quite right. Miss Harwood,” he rejoined. “Your 
presence always restrains our more brutal instincts. Why 
didn’t you continue the quotation? 

“ * We start as fierce as forest deer, 

You drive us home as tame.’ 

I’m not going to let you off, though, you beggar,” he con- 
cluded, as he tumbled a cock pheasant into the water, who 
was winging his way toward the same sanctuary which his 
four-footed companion had by this time safely reached. 

Miss Harwood had seen too many battues to be the least 
sentimental about the killing of game; but this hare had 
certainly appealed to what chivalry there might be in the 
breasts of his persecutors, and though she said nothing she 
felt inwardly disgusted with Miss Skelton’s shrill demand 
for its death. The gallant animal deserved its life as much 


THE OUTSIDER. 


27 


as any brave of the arena. For a few seconds she had 
thought that Ois was about to yield to the cry for its de- 
struction, and it was with quite a sigh of relief that she 
saw him drop his gun. But the cover has been by this 
time thrashed out. The cunning old cock pheasant that 
invariably skulks in the bush till the guns have handed 
their pieces to the attendants, has risen with tremendous 
fuss, and winged away, crowing, unharmed and exultant, 
calling forth a laughing rebuke from the host at the undue 
hankering after the flesh-pots, which had led them to 
abandon their arms prematurely, and who, with his mouth 
full of Irish stew, was hardly a fitting person to upbraid his 
companions in such wise. The ladies were all seated on 
cushions from the pony-chaise, game-bags, etc., and very 
gay and cheery was the al-fresco meal as it proceeded. 
Capital sport, an exhilarating day, and just that amount 
of healthful exercise that gives a zest to one’s food. 

“ You will walk with us this afternoon?” said Cis, as he 
busied himself in attending to Julia Harwood’s require- 
ments. “ It’s all good going, grassy rides on a light soil. 
You can criticise our performance and will get your after- 
noon walk to boot.” 

“ Oh, yes; we generally walk with the guns when you 
are shooting the low plantations. It’s better fun than 
pounding along the road. ” 

“ We’ve done pretty well, I fancy,” said Cis. “ I over- 
heard Dickenson saying it was pretty good for before 
lunch.” 

“ From what I recollect of former days here you are 
quite up to the average; but I see papa’s on the fidget, and 
there’s very little law^given after that.” 

c; A glass of sherry and Fm ready,” replied Cis. “ Let 
me get you one too.” 

“ No, jthank you,” said Miss Harwood as she rose to her 
feet. u Come along, Lucy, it is time to fall in.” 


THE OUTSIDER. 


•>8 


“For'ard, forward, gentlemen,” shouted the squire, as 
lie once more threw his breech-loader across his shoulder. 

“ Now, gentlemen, if you please,” said Dickenson, and 
in a straggling fashion the party proceeded toward the next 
cover. Miss Harwood attached herselt to Maltby, but 
Miss Skelton, who had found things a little dull as far as 
she was concerned, joined Mr. Wrey, who, though he 
might not be beguiled into flirtation, could be, as she well 
knew, a most amusing companion. 

“ I did you an injustice, Captain Maltby,” said Julia. 
“ I really thought you were about to shoot that hare when 
you raised your gun.” 

“ Ah, we do at times put up our guns when we have no 
intention of ‘ loosing * them. The insatiable thirst to kill 
implanted in the sportsman's breast, I suppose," rejoined 
Cis. “ No, I never meant harm to that hare, in spite of 
Miss Skelton's murderous exhortation." 

“ Yes, I shall never feel quite the same toward Lucy; a 
little bit of her true nature peeped out then, I'm afraid. ” 

Julia was right in her conjecture. Miss Skelton had 
considerable pretensions to good looks, and always bitterly 
resented any preference of another's charms to her own on 
the part of the male sex. 

Could Cis and the hare have changed places her mur- 
derous mandate would have been still more accentuated : 
of course I don't mean that she actually desired the dra- 
goon's life, but she was very angry that he should have 
preferred Miss Harwood to her fair self on this occasion. 

The afternoon wore on, game was plentiful and right- 
eously dealt with; even old Dickenson's grim features had 
relaxed while the squire had been “ child-like and bland " 
to an extent that no comrade of his in the shooting field 
could call to mind. Everybody was in the best of spirits: 
even Miss Skelton had recovered herself, and taken com- 
fort in spiteful little remarks about the very pronounced 
flirtation which was going on to their left, and laughed at 


THE OUTSIDER. 


29 


Charley Wray’s retort: “ Yes, the more Maltby liirts, the 
straighter he always shoots, it seems to put the devil in 
him. ” It was in short one of those halcyon days, some- 
what rare to sportsmen of the squire’s type, when every- 
thing has gone without a hitch. “ Cali no man happy till 
he is dead,” quoth the moralist, “ nor no day happy till it 
is over,” he might have added. 

They have reached the last cover, whither the bulk of 
such pheasants as have escaped have winged their way. 
There has been a faint rumor among the beaters for the 
last quarter of an hour that they hear the hounds some- 
where near, but the wind is 'blowing from them in the 
direction whence the hounds have been heard, and no one 
dare hint to the squire that they are in the neighborhood 
till this last cover has been ’"satisfactorily polished off. 
Hardly have they entered it when the unmistakable blast 
of the horn falls upon every ear, and prefaced by a strong 
expletive the squire exclaims: 

“ The hounds! Too bad, too bad; I wrote to Lambton 
not to come our side this week.” 

Still Mr. Harwood took the matter more quietly than it 
was his nature to take a contretemps of such nature, but 
before they had proceeded much further the pheasants be- 
gan to get up wild and out of shot. 

“ What the deuce is it? What is the matter? Stop the 
line at once. It’s those confounded hounds, I’ll bet mv 
life. Hold hard, gentlemen, hold hard! D — n it ail, 
can’t you hold hard? Where is Dickenson? I’ll not move 
from this place till I see Dickenson. There’ll not be a 
pheasant left in the cover by the time we get to the corner. 
Dickenson ! Dickenson !” 

The head -keeper by no means relished tackling his mas- 
ter when in this mood. 

“ The squire’s a good sort,” lie would confide to his fel- 
lows, “ but you’d best if you can keep away from him 
while in his tantrums.” 


30 


THE OUTSIDER. 


But there were times, as the keeper well knew, when his 
master would stand no subterfuge, but insisted upon pour- 
ing forth the vials of his wrath without delay, and he 
recognized that this was one of those occasions. He was as 
much puzzled and disgusted at the panic amongst his 
pheasants as the squire could be, and reluctantly made his 
way to his irate master. 

• £ Now, Dickenson, I should just like to know the mean- 
ing of this before we go on,” said Mr. Harwood, with an 
assumed calmness that, to those who knew him, presaged 
a very tornado of temper. 

“ Well, sir,” said the keeper, 44 mebbe it's cats, but my 
belief is it's those woundy hounds, and that we've pinned 
the fox in the corner.” 

“By heavens! you're right. That fellow Lambton 
never draws a cover of mine again. By gad! I'll indict 
him for trespass if he and his cursed hounds ever come on 
my land again. Forward, gentleman; your sport is all 

ruined. There's a fox in the corner, and whoever 

sees it will be good enough to shoot it. ' ' 

The line advanced rapidly through the cover, for there 
was but little shooting. Whether it was a cat or a fox, 
there was evidently something before them that disturbed 
the game, and was scattering it in all directions. 

Suddenly old Dickenson exclaimed: 

44 It’s a dog, squire; one of those poaching curs of that 
old scoundrel Dobson. I'll pound it.” 

44 Where is it? By heavens! I'll shoot it if I can only 
see it.” 

At that instant Mr. Harwood caught a glimpse of the 
animal in question^ his gfUn went up to his shoulder, and in 
another moment would have been discharged, when 
Charley Wrey, who chanced to catch sight of him, ex- 
claimed almost in an eldritcli-shriek: 

44 Ware hound, squire! Ware hound!” 

Mechanically the master of Holton dropped the gun. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


31 


Manslaughter he might have been hard to hold from, but 
the boldest spirit in Barkshire would have shrunk from 
doing violence to a fox-hound. It would be a crime past 
all condonement through the county. Sullenly he strode 
on, muttering that that was the last fox-hound that should 
ever enter a Holton cover during his reign. 

The comer was hardly worth beating out when they came 
to it, and as the guns emerged from the cover the whole 
party was conscious of an impending storm, for trotting 
gayly across to speak to them was Godfrey Lambton, the 
master of the hounds, accompanied by some three or four 
of the leading members of his hunt. 

“ Now you’ll hear the governor put his foot in it,” said 
Yal Harwood. “ Not a bit of use speaking to him just 
now. One might as well hope to turn a mad bull from his 
course, as suggest suavity to him at present. Many 
thanks, Charley, for keeping him from sacrilege. ” 

By this time Lambton had reached them, and raised his 
hat with a courteous good-morning. 

“ Godfrey Lambton,” said the squire, hotly, “ you don’t 
suppose- 1 mean to stand this! I write and tell you I’m go- 
ing to shoot to-day, and beg you to meet accordingly, and 
here you are, and have ruined our day’s sport. ” 

“My dear Harwood, let me explain. Stop, just hear 
me. ” 

“ Hear me first,” rejoined the squire, angrily. “ I give 
you due notice to abstain from drawing my covers in fut- 
ure. ” 

“ If you insist upon it, of course I shall do so,” rejoined 
•Lambton. I can .only say I met ten miles off, so as not 
to interfere with you, and we usually run from jPentey 
Gorse right in the contrary direction. As the old hunts- 
man said: ‘ If foxes are d d fools, I can’t help it. ’ This 

one ought to have gone the other way, and it must have 
been sheer cussedness made him come yours. Sorry as I 
am if I have interfered with your sport, it will be surely 


32 


THE OUTSIDER. 


some satisfaction to know that some of your friends have 
enjoyed a rare good run, ending — ” 

“ In my covers,” interrupted the squire, testily. 

“ A kill, I was about to say; and, indeed, unless you 
intend shooting that* holt to the right, which our fox 
reached only to die in, I still don’t see that we have done 
you much harm.” 

u One of your confounded skirters was off the line and 
has run up everything for us in this cover. You've had 
your sport at our expense. If you’ll be good enough to 
remember what I have said, it can’t happen again. If it 
does I’ll shoot your hounds like rabbits.” 

Mr. Lambton was about to make an angry rejoinder, 
when he caught sight of the frantic signals which both 
Wrey and Val Harwood had been for some time making 
to him. 

66 1 can merely once more express my regret for interfer- 
ing with your sport, and trust that you may yet think bet- 
ter of the notice you have given me. Good-morning, gen- 
tlemen,” and once more raising his hat, Godfrey Lambton 
wheeled his horse round and trotted back to the hounds. 

As for the squire, he walked home growling to himself 
like a volcano after an eruption, with the comfortable con- 
viction that his conduct had met with unanimous condem- 
nation from all present. 


CHAPTER IV. 

SEEKING A VERDICT.” 

Seven or eight weeks have passed since Thea so distin- 
guished herself with the Bedminster, and though her ap- 
pearance at the cover-side has often been looked for by the 
members of that hunt, she has been seen by them no more. 
With the Topchester she has established quite a reputation, 
and the best men among them own that Mrs. Welstead is 


THE OnSIDEtt. 


rarely put of a good thing, and vow there is not a woman 
in England who can ride like her. She knows, to bow fco, 
pretty well all the habitues with those hounds, but the 
ladies of the neighborhood still stand aloof, and, despite 
the enthusiastic encomiums bestowed upon her by their 
lords and brethren, still obstinately refuse to call. 

“ In her painful position it strikes me as very bad taste 
to make herself so conspicuous,” says Mrs. Goldsmith, 
wife of the eminent brewer, and chatelaine of Telstone 
Park, and the banal cry is taken up by sundry w.ould-be 
Dianas, who have vainly endeavored to render themselves 
equally remarkable. 

Thea troubles herself little about this just now. For the 
present hunting is all sufficient for her; but she dreads the 
time, now so near at hand, when the season must come to 
a close. It is so dull, this life of isolation, to which society 
condemns her for no fault of her own. That the dwellers 
on the border-land would welcome her in their tents she 
knows very well, but Thea is a woman with a clear con- 
science, and has no wish to consort with those svho have 
figured more or less in the chroniques scandahuses of the 
London world. She does not wish that Hugh Mftsgrave, 
should she ever meet him again, should regard her as one 
of those, and then she wonders does Hugh ever hunt, and 
if not, how dreary his exile must be to him. 

In the by -gone days she, though fond of riding, had never 
done more than now and again see the hounds throw off. 
It was only after her marriage that she had taken regularly 
to hunting, and, gifted with a good seat, plenty of nerve, 
and fine hands, rapidly became an accomplished horse- 
woman. Add to this the recklessness that came from bit- 
ter disappointment, from the conviction that she had 
thrown her life’s happiness away, and no wonder Thea rode 
hard fco hounds. With her passionate, impulsive nature, 
she threw herself into the sport thoroughly— as she said, it 
made her forget— and the happiest days of ' her life were 


34 


THE OUTSIDER. 


now passed in the hunting field. She rode like. a lady 
always, and a woman may ride very boldly and well and 
not do that. Some of them, indeed, expect such considera- 
tion of their sex as renders them a positive nuisance to 
their hunting brethren, and yet I wonder when men do 
more genuine homage to the sex than when they meet a 
woman, thorough -bred as her horse, for whom no fence is 
too big and to whom a mishap is a matter of laughter. 

Hugh Musgrave indeed occupied far too constant a place 
in Thea’s thoughts nowadays. There had been a time 
when she had resolutely striven to put his image away from 
her, and to do her duty to the man she had married, but 
she held herself exempt from all that now. She was not 
free, far from it — she was chained for life to a man she de- 
tested and despised, but she did deem herself free to muse 
over what might have been. It was no treason to such a 
husband as hers to let her thoughts run continually upon 
Hugh, and I think a worldly jury would have endorsed her 
view of the case, with a significant rider — “ not treasona- 
ble, but scarcely prudent. 55 That love had been at most 
but scotched, and now Thea was cherishing and brooding 
over it. Ah, well! if people all did what they ought, the 
world would become insufferably dull, and human nature 
as it is would have ceased to be. It was a glass of water 
the wicked old Frenchwoman was drinking, when she ex- 
claimed: “ Oh! that this were a sin, to give it a relish ; 5 5 
and even the most straitlaced amongst us have a craving 
for the unorthodox. We draw the line at the theater, but 
derive a feverish enjoyment from the same performance 
within the walls of the assembly rooms. Oh, age of cant 
and grandmotherly legislation, when, as Locker sings: 

4 ‘ Many are afraid of God, 

And more of Mrs. Grundy,” 

when, because Giles get drunk, be it enacted that there 
shall be no more “ cakes and ale 55 in Podsnap-cum-Slat- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


35 


terly. Better that ninety-five just people should suffer 
mortification and fasting than Giles and four compatriots 
should have opportunity to indulge in their Sabbath orgies. 

“ Where are we to go, auntie?” said Mrs. W 7 elstead, as 
they sat over their afternoon tea one bitter March after- 
noon, when frost precluded all idea of hunting and a cat- 
ting nor'-easter gave scant encouragement to out-of-door 
exercise. “ Our time here is nearly out, and Toxeter 
without hunting is as supper without champagne. Three 
or four more good gallops, if I am lucky, and then 4 the 
pink ' vanishes before the primrose.” 

“ We have got this house till the end of April, my dear, 
and I suppose you will stay your time out,” replied Mrs. 
Desmond. 

“ Indeed I shall do nothing of the kind,” retorted Thea. 
** Toxeter is a very pretty town, and no doubt very charm- 
ing, but Toxeter and its neighborhood care not for me, 
nor I for Toxeter.” 

But you must live somewhere, and may as well work 
out your time here as not,” replied Mrs. Desmond, with a 
laudable spirit of economy.” 

“ It is no use talking, auntie. I move the week after 
the last meet of Topchester is announced. I think I shall 
try London again. All the world can allege against me is, 
that I don't live with my husband, and I fancy Mr. Wel- 
stead's reputation has been too much noised abroad to 
make that matter of surprise.” 

“ My dear, do be careful. Remember the delicate situa- 
tion in which you are placed. The world is so censorious.” 

“ And never more so than when you show yourself afraid 
of it,” cried Thea. “ I was a fool in the first instance to 
feel ashamed of my position and the wreck of my married 
life, but it was more the pity of my friends I dreaded than 
aught else. Now I shall be no more exposed to that than 
a woman to condolence in her second year's widowhood. 


36 


THE OUTSIDER. 


It’s my compassionate nature, I suppose, but I would 
rather be condemned than pitied. I detest pity.** 

There are doubtless those among your friends who will 
nevertheless still bestow it on you; some from ignorance, 
and some from malice.** 

She was prim, precise, even puritan, in her views of the 
world, but Mrs. Desmond did understand her sex. She 
was as sure as if she had witnessed it that Thea in her tri- 
umphant days had made many an enemy. Bich, u bride, 
and in all the insolence of her beauty, it would have been 
strange if she had not, but to a woman with her love of ad- 
miration it would have been a sheer impossibility. There 
had been a shivering of lances with many a rival, who, if 
the tourney had gone against her at the time, still looked 
forward to avenging her overthrow, and as Mrs. Desmond 
shrewdly suggested, the joints in Thea*s armor were now 
patent to her foes. 

“ Yes, auntie, I suppose you are right/* she exclaimed 
after a brief pause; “but I have counted the cost and 
made up my mind to face it. Such of 4 ray dear friends * 
as I find unpleasant I shall ignore, while others will ignore 
me, but though my circle may be much restricted, some of 
my acquaintances will stand by me. I shall not be re- 
garded in London as the social pariah 1 am down here/' 

“You are, of course, mistress, Thea, and for my part 1 
shall enjoy a season in London. I am always happy pok- 
ing about the picture-galleries and so on. But it was my 
duty to point out what probably lies before you. If you 
prefer pricks and pin-points to dullness and seclusion there 
is no more to be said.** 

Thea looked curiously at her for a moment, and then 
said: 

“ Yes, you dear old thing. Better the risk and tumult 
of the open field than the stagnant security of the walled 
city. No/* continued Mrs. Welstead, who possessed all the 
elasticity common to people of her temperament, resem- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


37 


tiling indeed a fluctuating barometer, and going from 4 ■ set 
fair ” to “ storm and rain ” with somewhat bewildering 
rapidity, “ ‘ My soul’s in arms and eager for the fray. ’ I 
Could hold my own Well enough in days gone by, and am 
not likely to get worsted now, I am not the only woman 
with a s'keleton in her cupboard/ ’ 

“ No, indeed/’ replied Mrs. Desmond with a sigh, and 
dimly conscious of a little one in her own. The late 
lamented Desmond had never been quite what she was 
wont to describe him, either in position or as a husband. 
Still it was a touching loyalty to his memory and pard ena- 
ble fraud that led her, after his death, to give him the 
couple of steps of rank which the Horse Guards had 
neglected to do, and invest him with virtues which he was 
far from possessing, having been, in fact, a dissolute, bil- 
liatd-playing spendthrift, avIio made an end of it in some 
continental town. 

u That’s settled, then, auntie. You understand. As 
soon as you see the last meet of the Topchester advertised, 
we make our preparations for departure.” 

The signal agreed upon speedily arrived, and that last 
day proved, as last days are wont to, barren and unfruitful 
of sport. A hot sun and a nor’-east wind were fatal to 
scent, and though there were plenty of foxes left the kill- 
ing of them had to be postponed till next season, and the 
score for the present one closed as it stood. Trunks were 
packed, bills were paid, old Peter and the horses made 
their way to a well-known mews in the Edge ware Hoad, 
and the middle of April saw the two ladies comfortably es- 
tablished in a small house in Hyde Park district, which 
was handy for Thea to indulge in her morning canter in 
the Row. She rode quite early, long before the fashionable 
hour, and, so far, had encountered no one she knew. But 
Thea was in complete ignorance of what a terrible blow the 
Fates had dealt her; It had never occurred to Mrs. Wel- 
stead that Hugh Musgrave’s disappearance from society 


m 


THE OUTSIDER. 


was coincident with her own, and that scandal had declared 
they had gone oft* together. It was true the best informed 
people, those most likely to be conversant with Musgrave’s 
movements, denied this, but there w6re not wanting many 
who were quite convinced that it was so. 

The principals, perhaps, were the only two people in 
London ignorant of this calumny. Algernon Welstead, 
when sounded on the subject, and it was a delicate point to 
touch upon, and Welstead by no means the man to stand 
any cross-examination regarding it, merely said that he 
and his wife had agreed to go their own roads, and that he 
and Mrs. Welstead got on best when they never met. It 
was absurd to suppose that Welstead was ignorant of this 
stain upon his wife’s fair fame; but it was quite in accord- 
ance with liis cynical, vindictive nature, to make no at- 
tempt to defend her. To those who knew Algernon Wel- 
stead best, his not noticing the report was convincing proof 
that Thea was innocent. He was, as before said, vindic- 
tive, and had given proof more than once of unflinching 
courage, and had he believed there was the slightest 
grounds for the rumor, Musgrave had been called to ac- 
count long ago. 

But Thea knew very well- that she was not as yet facing 
London; riding at the hour she did she was not likely to 
meet any one, and if she wanted to ascertain what view 
society took of her case she must go where she would en- 
counter society; so, as soon as they had settled down in 
their new abode, Thea ordered the victoria, and prepared 
to drive at the fashionable hour. She was not likely to 
throw a chance away upon such an occasion, and no de - 
butante arming for her first ball could have made a more 
careful toilet than did Thea. Never had Mrs. Welstead 
looked prettier than she did as she tripped down-stairs on 
her way to the carriage. Her cheeks w r ere slightly flushed 
and her eyes sparkled in anticipation of the coming ordeal; 
but had she been aware of that shameful rumor which con- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


3 9 


nected her name with Musgrave 3 s, she might have hesitated 
to dare it at all. It was better for her she was in igno- 
rance. The sole way to combat calumny is to confront it. 
Even Mrs. Desmond was struck with her. and could not 
refrain from exclaiming: 

“ How very well you look, Thea — positively radiant. 1 
never saw you look so handsome.'* 

“ Ah! auntie, 3 * replied Mrs. Welstead, with a smile, as 
she nestled into her cushions, “ I am bound to commence 
the campaign in all my bravery. 33 

They turned into the park; the drive was crowded, and 
some few hats were raised with considerable enipressemeni 
to Mrs. Welstead. Quite evident their owners would have 
been only too glad to speak, should opportunity offer; but 
the crucial test was yet to come. Ha! here it comes at 
last. A lady is slowly meeting them, in whose face art 
wages an obstinate struggle with nature. She was richly 
dressed, and it was evident had not yet abdicated her title 
of a leading beauty. As the carriages met, Thea drew 
herself a little up and looked Lady Dullingham earnestly 
in the eyes; but that lady vouchsafed only a steady stare* 
and gave no sign of recognition. Thea 3 s face was as im- 
passive as her own; but Mrs. Desmond knew intuitively 
that the two had known each other formerly, decided as 
the cut had been on both sides. 

“ You know that woman, Thea, and she declined to 
recognize you, 33 said Mrs. Desmond. 

“ She has dined at my table, and, but a little while ago y 
claimed to be one of my most intimate friends. It is over 
now, you see, 33 concluded Thea, with a bitter little laugh. 
“ We will sit out the play. 33 

“ The Dullingham 3 s cut her dead, by Jove! 33 exclaimed 
Charley Wrey, who was lounging against the rails, and to 
whom Mrs. Welstead 3 s reappearance was an interesting 
social problem. “ That woman judges as hardly as she 


40 


THK OUTSIDER. 


dyes. They always get more orthodox as temptation 
wanes. ' ' 

But ere Thea left the park, more than one fair head had 
bent in' kindly recognition, and as they drove home Mrs. 
Wei stead said, with a triumphant little laugh: 

* 4 IVe a few friends left, auntie, though Lady Dulling- 
Dun has struck me off her visiting list. That's a slight I 
may live to repay with interest.” 


CHAPTER A r . 

MRS. WELSTE AD’S CASE. ” ; 

The reappearance of Mrs. Welstead occasioned no little 
sensation. She had flashed across the London world for 
one brief season like a meteor. She had been acknowl- 
edged one of the beauties of the year — lier partisans insisted 
that she was the beauty— and she had been immensely 
taken up by society. She was rich, and though the wife of 
a notorious rove, there were many anxious and wearied 
matrons who would fain that to one of their own daughters 
might have been intrusted the task of reforming the rake, 
but who now hoped that poor Mrs. Welstead might have 
no cause to rue the venturesome marriage she had made, 
instead of quoting that musty old proverb about 44 the re- 
formed rake,” etc., which had hitherto been forever on 
their :ps. * * 

Mat y too were anxious to see Algernon Welstead in his 
new role of a married man and a great social entertainer. 

He had, so far, been fitful and capricious about mixing 
in society, holding more to the allurements of club life, 
and preferring the card-room to the ball-room; but now 
the entertainments at the big house in Portland Place were 
as much talked about as the bachelor dinners and high 
play that had preceded them. The house had been 
thoroughly refurnished and redecorated for Thea, and a 


) HE OUTSIDER. 


41 


card for Mrs. Wei stead’s balls became a subject -lor much 
social intrigue and diplomacy. 

Algernon Welstead was turned twenty-seven when he 
came to his inheritance. Up to that he had been a man 
about town,, with a covert taste for the turf and high whist, 
which he dared not openly divulge. Though his allowance 
was liberal, it was entirely at the discretion of a crabbed 
old man, who could not only suspend it at any moment, 
but could, and it was highly probable would, disinherit his 
nephew if he found him indulging in such illicit tastes as 
alluded to. The three* or four race-horses Algernon Wel- 
stead possessed ran under his assumed name of Mr. Row- 
land, and to the turf world he was very particular in keep- 
ing to this incognito , even in the matter of the booking of 
bets. But on the death of his uncle he threw off the 
mask, rapidly enlarged his stud, and began to race on a 
very large scale. He would play whist too at whatever 
points any one chose to name, but, for all this, he hurt 
himself neither on the card -table nor the race-course. To 
begin with, he was a man of large capital, who played a 
first-class rubber, and could therefore stand a run of bad 
luck, while the book-makers found that when Algernon 
Welstead backed his own horses in earnest, and he was shy 
of dealing with other people’s, his estimate of their chances 
was pretty correct: a man more known than popular, and 
who, in racing, was notorious for not letting his right hand 
know what his left hand was doing. The friends that 
benefited by one of Welstead’s coups were usually to be 
well-nigh counted on one hand, and the golden goose ran 
little risk of being cut up amongst too many. 

Since his separation from his wife he had reverted to his 
bachelor habits, and become more constant than ever to 
club life. 

Mrs. Welstead’s appearance in the drive recalled to old 
Londoners that brief period when she reigned triumphant 
as one of the queens of London society. The Olaverton 


43 


THE OUTSIDER. 


House balls — patronized by royalty, and to obtain tickets 
for which much dirt was eaten and much degradation gone 
through— even yet dwelt in their memories, and still more, 
in tire hearts of the favored few whose names were on the 
list, dwelt the remembrance of the Claverton House din- 
ners, which, as Charley Wrey said, “ were as yet to the 
privileged ‘ a dream of fair dishes/ and that , as a matter 
of visions, Tennyson's 4 Dream of Fair Women ' could not 
compare with it. " It is humiliating to think of, but I am 
afraid that the recollection of that exquisite dinner, or that 
Sybarite supper, lingers longer in* our memories than the 
contemplation of anything in the art world, be it painting, 
sculpture, or our last great actor’s Hamlet. Fm a Philis- 
tine, I fear, but aestheticism has had its day, and the cynic 
who asserted that the way to a man’s heart lay through 
the ganglionic center went nearer the mark than we care 
to admit. 

In club smoking-rooms there was much discussion as to 
how Mrs. Welstead would be received. I may seem to 
dwell rather unduly on these symposiums, but, as a matter 
of fact, all the gossip of the town is filtered through them, 
and also at times, strange to say, a good deal of business is 
done over the tobacco consumed therein. I have seen 
horses sold, plays sketched out, books named, ay, and sold 
too, in these pleasant lounges, while every one knows that 
many of the pleasantest entertainments of the season owe 
their inception to the fragrant weed and the pleasant talk 
it induces. At the Theatine " this subject was warmly 
discussed in all its bearings. 

c; I shall be curious, very curious, to see the result of this 
battle. A pretty woman like Mrs. Welstead must have 
made plenty of enemies during her brief though brilliant 
career in London, and she may naturally count upon find- 
ing some of her 4 dear friends ' amongst them. She had a 
pretty strong proof of that to-day, for Lady Dullingham 
cut her dead. The countess is a power in the land, and 


THE OUTSIDER. 


43 


there is no gainsaying that she is tolerably relentless in her 
animosities.” 

“ But,” said Yal Harwood, “ you said there was nothing 
against her further than that she couldn’t live with her 
husband?” 

“So. I did/’ rejoined Wrey; “and so I do now; but 
isn’t it quite enough against a woman that she is separated 
from her husband? It maybe hard, it may not be jus- 
tice, but we all know it is so.” 

“ Yes; but you know as well as I do, Charley, that that 
is not the worst of it!” exclaimed Lord Collington. “ The 
almost simultaneous disappearance of herself and Musgrave 
has never been cleared up. I don’t mean to say for one 
moment that it was anything more than pure accident, but 
it afforded a handle for a very ugly story.” 

“ The veriest lie that ever was coined,” rejoined Wrey, 
testily. 

“ You are a warm champion, old man,” said Collington, 
laughing; “ but still there’s the story, and people who find 
it convenient affect to believe it. You know Mrs. Wei- 
stead, of course?” 

“ Yes, slightly. I’ve met her in the way you meet peo- 
ple you don’t know at big gatherings, but I never had 
much talk with Mrs. Welstead. No, Collington, I’m a 
most disinterested champion, unbought of ^oup and side- 
dish, incorruptible as Robespierre of the sea-green counte- 
nance; but I admire Mrs. Welstead, and I detest her hus- 
band, ’ ’ 

“ Always get a garrulous witness out of the box quick- 
ly,” said Harwood, sententiously. “ You let your tongue 
run riot, Charley, and can pose as a paladin no longer. A 
good healthy hatred is as powerful a lever as love or ad- 
miration.” 

“ And the best card just now in Mrs. Welstead ’a. hand,” 
observed Lord Collington. 

That cynical peer had roistered half over Europe fn. his 


THE OUTSIDER. 


44 

hot youth, and, like Ulysses, seen men and cities. W re y 
was one of his most intimate friends. They were alike in 
the one point that both carried kindly hearts beneath their 
shrewd worldly cynicism. 

“ Yes/' he continued, “ a good many people will espouse 
Mrs. Welstead 's cause solely from the righteous dislike they 
have to her husband. If it rested with the men she'd carry 
it 4 hands down/ but we've little to say to it. We know 
what an awful bad lot he is — the women don't, and find 
plenty of excuse for such of his amiable weaknesses as 
reach their ears. For some time Welstead figured as an 
eligible jjarii. The appearance of a Mrs. Welstead put an 
end to that, still the lady seemed disposed to make all the 
amends in her power by entertaiuinglargely and sumptuous- 
ly. Then she suddenly separates from her husband, no 
one knows exactly why, but that, of course, puts an end to 
fetes and dinners at Claverton House, the second affront 
Mrs. Welstead has put u})on society. But why has she left 
him? Society will have that question answered, and in 
default of accurate information rapidly formulates a story 
and answers itself. '' 

“A very nice little sermon, Codington," observed 
Wrey, as the speaker paused to raise a goblet to his lips. 
“It is a pity you forgot to sum up. The deduction is 
clear; when you do come before the public, let 'em have 
your version of the affair as quickly as may be, lest they 
should narrate a worse story concerning you. It has 
always been so, and I take it the swells of Babylon and 
Nineveh had their troubles of this sort. We know it was 
so in Rome; and Alcibiades, too, did not cut off his dog's 
tail without reason. " 

“ Never mind airing your very limited classical knowl- 
edge, Charley," interrupted Harwood. 

“ Well, it is thrown away," rejoined the attacked. 
“ However, I am afraid that Collington is right, and that 
when this case comes to be analyzed, it resolves itself into 


Tin: OUTSIDER. 


45 


a battle between Lady Dullingham and Mrs. Wei stead, but 
I am afraid it^s long odds on the countess// 

44 l am not so sure of that/* remarked Collington ; 46 you 
dor/t know Mrs. Wei stead, Charley. I do. She's one of 
the cleverest women I ever met; and remember, when it 
comes to taking her place or meeting such insolence as 
Lady Dullingham's, she can hold her owft as royally as if 
she were born in the purple. As Harwood says, a good 
healthy hatred is a powerful lever, and Lady Dullingham 
is not altogether popular. As an unmarried man I can do 
but little to assist Mrs. Welstead, but it' there was a Lady 
Collington she should call, I swear by the Tewkesbury 
pig/' 

Charley Wrey gazed upon the speaker with an amused 
smile as lie retorted: 

44 You know as much about matrimony as I do about the 
unholy vow you have just registered." 

44 A most illogical conclusion that, because you are in 
ignorance on one point, I should be in ignorance on an- 
other. Know, Charley, that a Tewkesbury pig surpasseth 
the whole porcine race in obstinacy, and that I have a 
strain of the Tewkesbury pig in my otherwise faultless dis- 
position." 

44 You evidently don't think Mrs. Welstead 's case at all 
a hopeless one?" said Val Harwood. 

44 No, certainly not; I've seen what a clever, patient, 
plucky woman can do in such circumstances before now, 
and with a worse case considerably than Mrs. Welstead's. 
She was by no means ostracised all round in the park to- 
day, Fm told, and if she gets a fair opening she will soon 
reconquer the old ground. If she and Lady Dullingham 
meet, and I will bet you two ponies to one she contrives to 
bring that about, there will be a pretty exchange of cut 
and thrust, and I will bet two to one once more that Mrs. 
Welstead has the best of the bout." 

44 Well, I'm off," said Harwood, rising. 44 I shall be 


46 


THE OUTSIDER. 


curious to see if you are right in your prognostications, 
Oolliugton. Good-night. ” 

“ Three months will show, and you will hear the cam- 
paign often commented on before the end of July;, but I 
stick to my text, and prophesy Lady JDullingham will ex- 
perience much exasperation before the season’s over. 
Good-night.” * 

u What the devil is your story of the Tewkesbury pig?” 
inquired Wrey, “ for a story there is of courser” 

“ My dear Charley/’ replied the peer, with a twinkle in 
his eye, “ I’m a shrewd observer, with a touch of a nat- 
uralist about me, and I’ve long speculated what is the most 
downright obstinate animal in creation. The camel is 
highly gifted by nature in that way, and the mule, thanks 
to the stupidity of man, has acquired a fictitious reputation 
in this respect. They’re neither of them in it with the 
pig. The mule, bah! treat him kindly, and — obstinate! 
pooh, he’s not even disputative! But the pig! — whoever 
saw a pig change his mind in consequence of persuasion -or 
kindness? I’ve shot wild boars in Albania and stuck wild 
pigs in India, and they all died in the same obstinate, im- 
penitent, pig-like frame of mind. But the noblest speci- 
men of porcine obstinacy I ever saw was, I repeat, on a 
market-day at Tewkesbury. I should think there was half 
the town collected in the High Street to induce the pig to 
go down a suspicious-looking turning. He would let them 
drive him to the very entrance of it, and then stop as if to- 
consider the question; then would come a cry of 6 Steady, 
Tom; easy, Bill; don’t hurry him,’ and in another minute 
that pig had bolted through Tom’s legs, given a grim 
grunt at Bill, galloped pell-mell through the crowd, and 
pulled up with a positive wink in his eye, as if to once more 
think the thing over. This went on for at least half an 
hour; half a score of men had been laid on their backs, 
and still that pig defied all Tewkesbury to put him down 
that alley. It was the most magnificent case of porcine 


THE OUTSIDER. 


obstinacy I ever witnessed. He succumbed at last to the 
tyranny of numbers; they rushed in upon him, and had 
him by the leg, the tail, the ear, etc., but the Tewkesbury 
pig carried his point. He was neither led nor driven, but 
dragged, protesting in profanest pig-language, down that 
alley which he had made up his porcine mind never to en- 
ter. ” 

“ As a story I don't think much of it," remarked Wrey, 
He was a little wont to form a low estimate of stories not 
of his own telling. 

^Perhaps not; you should have seen the incident. 
What a farceur that pig was, and how many people I have 
met who resembled him. People whom I thought I had 
convinced, but who c were of the sariie opinion still.' I 
wish you could have seen it, Charley — done you good, old 
man; it conveyed a high moral lesson. I am not sure the 
Tewkesbury pig would not have made a great politician. 
If dogged persistency in his own views, with a total disre- 
gard of any one else's opinions, is statesmanship, he'd have 
made his mark. Good-night. " 

* * * * ❖ * % 

54 Yal," exclaimed Miss Harwood, “who is this Mrs. 
Welstead, whose reappearance in London lias called forth 
so' much comment?" 

The pair were dawdling over a late breakfast at the 
squire's town house in Portman Square, that decorous, sub- 
stantial-looking square, which always looks as if it were in- 
habited by “ large-acred men," “ men with a stake in' the 
country " — surely the slip of some one with a currente 
calamo who wrote with an estate in the country. 

“ Mrs. Welstead, Ju?" replied her brother. “ She was 
all the rage the season before you came out. She separated 
from her husband, and has never been seen in town since. 
What is agitating society just now is whether she will be 
received in London or not." 


48 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ They say she went off with a Mr. Musgrave,” observed 
Miss Harwood, “ and if that really is the case, I can’t con- 
ceive there being a doubt about it. London is tolerably 
easy in its morality, but it couldn’t condone that . n 

“ Quite so. Ju; but there seems to be a doubt whether 
there are any more grounds for that story than that she 
flirted a bit with him that season. Her friends declare the 
whole story to be a malicious lie, and I heard Lord Col- 
lington, who knows her well, offer to bet two to one she 
is received everywhere this season. ” 

“ She is the lady that cut Captain Maltby and all the 
rest of you down that day with the Bedminster last winter, 
isn’t she?” 

“ Yes,” rejoined Val, chuckling; “ I never saw a more 
holy show than she and Fred Lester made of our ■ bruisers ’ 
that afternoon.” 

“ I don’t believe a lady who dared show with the Bed- 
minster and who can ride like that has much to reproach 
herself with,” said Miss Harwood, gravely. 

“ Spoken like a daughter of a race of sportsmen,” cried 
Val, laughing. i 6 Bravo, Ju; but I’m fain to confess I’ve 
seen ladies with scutcheons unmistakably smirched ride re- 
markably straight.” 

“The brazen things,” remarked Julia; “ but no such 
woman as I have heard Mrs. Welstead described would 
court publicity unless she were innocent. Depend upon it 
her friends are right, and it is an atrocious calumny. ” 

“ Perhaps so,” rejoined her brother. “ What your sex 
will do under given circumstances is past masculine under- 
standing. In the meantime, Ju, I wouldn’t be in a hurry 
to take up the cudgels for Mrs. Welstead. She’s not even 
an acquaintance of yours, mind.” 

u I hope I should stand up for the wronged without cal- 
culating the consequences,” rejoined Miss Harwood. 
“It’s never been the fashion of our race to reck those 
when it came to choosing sides. Don’t be alarmed, my 


1HE OUTSIDER. 


49 


worldly brother, it’s not likely I can do anything lor Mrs. 
Welstead.” 

“Best keep out ol the imbroglio, Ju, ” rejoined Val 
Harwood as he rose from the table. “ It’s no business of 
yours/’ and with that he sauntered out of the room and 
left big sister to study the “ Morning Post ” over the tea. 


CHAPTER VI. 

“LORD CQLL1NGTON.” 

* 4 Well, auntie, the campaign has commenced in earnest 
now,” said Thea, as, on her return from her afternoon 
drive about a week after her first appearance in the Row. 
she paused to tumble over the cards that lay upon the 
table. “ It, is pretty much as I expected, but, as I might 
have guessed, a little different. Society is not unanimous 
about cutting me, and that’s half the battle. Give me an 
opening, and I’ve friends enough left to make my way, 
but I had been powerless had the door been barred. What 
a putting of one’s friends through the sieve it is,” con- 
tinued Thea, laughing. “ How 7 the cherished pass through 
the griddle, while the despised remain. Here’s Lady Dul- 
lingham, who, three years ago, could not make enough of 
me, cuts me dead, w r hile fat, good-natured Mrs. Peter- 
sham, wdiom I always laughed at, and voted too dowdy for 
my more exclusive parties, has left cards, and an invitation 
to her next dance; and remember, Mrs. Petersham, al- 
though she is fat and dowdy, moves in the best set in Lon- 
don.” 

“I don’t think you need be under any apprehension, 
Thea. Your friends are, for the most part, glad to see 
you back again, and as for those that have turned their 
backs upon you, you’re well rid of them.” 

“ But they are not well rid of me,” rejoined Mrs. Wel- 
stead. “ Lady Dullingham and I have a little score to 


THE OlTSrivEK. 


50 

settle, which she will find there's small chance of my for- 
getting. She would do well to remember that £ the out- 
siders ' bring the favorites to grief at times/' and the 
vengeful flash in Thea's eyes augured a smartish skirmish 
whenever the two ladies should come across each other. 

It may seem easy to ignore “ one's aversion " in society, 
but it is nothing of the kind if the said “ aversion " hap- 
pen to be bitter of tongue, and clever of fence. There has 
been many a version of Brummell's Who's your fat 
friend?" played since George the Fourth's time. To talk 
at a person may be vulgar, but it is by no means confined 
to Vulgar people, and is, perhaps, not more vulgar than 
cutting a person without due and sufficient reason. 

The story of Lord George Bentinck calling to the waiter 
at Orockford's to bring him Sir Vincent Cotton's bill, and 
then remarking, for the benefit of the whole coffee-room, 
that 66 Sir Vincent Cotton should pay his debts before 
ordering so expensive a dinner," is well known, and is a 
tolerably strong specimen of talking at a man. The 
patrician here took advantage of his position to gratuitous- 
ly insult a broken man, and I think displayed as much vul- 
garity as was well possible. There is much said in society 
that is meant, not for the person to whom it is addressed, 
but is solely for the benefit of one or more of the by- 
standers. 

Amongst the earliest callers on Thea was Lord Colling- 
ton, and she received him with genuine jfleasure. He had 
always been one of her most intimate friends, and all the 
more valued because he never made love to her, which so 
many of her admirers appeared to think quite as imperative 
as due recognition of her claims to beauty. Between her 
and the peer there had existed that frank camaraderie 
which is so charming where it exists between the sexes. A 
beautiful woman wearies of being always complimented on 
tii at point, and yearns to be recognized as having other 
claims to admiration. Was it not Mine, de Stael who got 


THE OUTSIDER, 


51 


so tired of being -told that she was clever? She knew that; 
but the being assured that she was beautiful never palled 
upon her ears, because on that point she had some well- 
t grounded misgivings. 

“ Charmed to see you once more amongst us, Mrs. Wel- 
stead,” said the peer, as they shook hands. “ You have 
been lost to sight for two seasons. I heard of your appear- 
ing like a meteor with the Bedminster last winter, and be- 
ing as hard to catch as a will-o’-the-wisp.” 

“ Sit down. Lord Collington, and we will have one of 
our old gossips. Ah! that was a day with the Bedminster; 
I shall never have such another. A day of that kind 
comes once in a life-time. Thea Welstead will never ride 
again like that. I only wish you had been there to see.” 

“ Which from all accounts I should not have done. 
Those who were, I’m told, had only a distant view of your 
horse’s tail.” 

“ Nonsense, Lord Collington; though I believe I had 
some good men behind me,” replied Thea, with a touch of 
conscious triumph in her tones. “ I’d a wonderful pilot; 
if you follow Mr. Lester, you must ride.” 

“By Jove! I should think so; but he’s hardly a fit pilot 
for a lady. Fred Lester always rides as if he'd a spare 
neck at the back of his saddle. However, you’re all safe, 
and the Bedminster men turn pale at the sight of a habit 
now, they tell me. After the cracker you led them, they 
well may.” 

“ Ah! never mind my exploits. Tell me what’s going 
on in town.” 

“ Why, you yourself are the talk of the town just now. 
Where you have been? What you have been doing? And 
above all, whether you are to be called upon?” 

“ Some people have made up their minds on that point 
already,” replied Mrs. Welstead, with a significant gesture 
toward the heap of cards on the table, “ including, I am 
glad to say, Lord Collington.” 


THE OUTSIDER. 


52 

“ Yes; bat you will forgive me if I exercise the abomina- 
ble freedom of an old friend, and say that some people 
have, avowedly, made up their minds the other way. ” 

“ True,” replied Thea; “in my position I expected as 
much. But, Lord Collington, you are an old friend, and 
i am going to ask you one question, which I trust you will 
answer without reserve. All the world knows that I am 
judicially separated from mv husband. What reason does 
the world give for it?” 

It was an awkward question, and one that Lord Colling- 
ton had never dreamed would be put to him. He hesitated 
a little, and then replied somewhat confusedly: 

“Oh! the stereotyped form in such cases, that you did 
not get on together.” 

Thea shook her head impatiently. 

“ I want the truth,” she said, vehemently, “ and FLl 
not ask you to spare my feelings in the telling of it. What 
is it they allege against me?” 

“ Of course, there are all sorts of scandalous rumors 
which no one believes — ” 

“Excuse me!” she cried, interrupting him. “Which 
they do believe, or affect to believe, which is the same 
thing. The whole truth, if you please, Lord Collington. 
I have a right to know of what I stand arraigned,” 

“ Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Welstead; remember, that 
neither I nor your real friends credited it for one moment, 
and that it is almost an insult even to tell you such a story 
has .been circulated concerning you.” 

“ Go on,” she said, “ never mind softening it.” 

“ It was rumored that you had fled with Hugh Mus- 
grave.” 

“ What a shameful lie!” cried Thea, starting to her feet. 
“ As there is a God above us, I have never seen Hugh Mus- 
grave since I bade him good-bye at the end of that season. 
Some slight flirtation there was between us then, but he 
never even kissed my hand; much less were there any such 


THE OUTSIDER. 




love passages between us as my traducers would make 
out. And then Thea's cheeks Hushed as she recolleeted 
that though her words were true in spirit, they were hardly 
true to the letter. Before she had ever seen her husband, 
down in the garden of the old Dorsetshire rectory, Hugh's 
lips had pressed her cheek and whispered a love tale into 
her ears that made her heart thrill now. But she had been 
loyal to her marriage vows, and her flirtation with Mus- 
grave had been kept within conventional bounds, though, 
perhaps, it was well the Fates separated them when they 
did. 

“ I told you none of us believed it," said Lord Colling- 
ton, after a pause, during which Thea paced the room 
restlessly. 

£< Yes/' she replied, smiling, as she extended her hand. 
c< It would have been unlike you not to stand up for an old 
friend; but what am I to do; Lady Dullingham assumes 
me guilty. You know how intimate we once were? She 
has cut me dead. " 

££ 1 venture to predict you will have the better of Lady 
Dullingham before Goodwood," rejoined the peer. “ In 
the meantime, if I may advise, I'd say do nothing. It’s a 
scandal that will speedily disprove itself. Already you can 
oount many partisans who refuse to believe in it. Now you 
are once more amongst u§, depend upon it testimony will 
be always accidentally turning up to prove that you have 
never left England. More people know Mrs. Welstead 
than Mrs. Welstead knows, and I again prophesy that be- 
fore Goodwood the story will be held ridiculous without 
your moving a finger." 

“ Not quite that," rejoined Thea, “ nor am I quite the 
woman to submit to such a foul charge in that fashion. 
Don't interrupt me, Lord Colling ton. I thank you for your 
advice, and will follow it, but don't think, when I have re- 
established my position, that I shall pot make reprisals. 


54 


THE OUTSIDER, 


Don't imagine that I shall either forget or pardon Lady 
Duilingham's insolence when my opportunity arrives." 

“No,” he replied, laughing. “'You would be more 
than woman if you did that, and certainly very unlike Mrs. 
Welstead. I remember — ” 

“Enough of myself," replied Tliea. “Can you tell 
me anything about Mr. Welsteadr I never hear from 
him, nor have I heard of him." 

“ He is in rather bad odor just now in the racing world. 
There was an important stake run for at Newmarket the 
other day in which he had two horses engaged. The one 
was first favorite and the other quite at a forlorn price in 
the betting. There was, of course, no reason why he 
should not win with which he liked, but he somewhat 
ostentatiously gave out that he should win with the favor- 
ite, and recommended all his friends to back it. Well, 
the outsider won, and the crack was nowhere. Mr. Wel- 
stead vowed he had no money on the winner, but his 
friends declare he won a large stake, and are loud in their 
abuse. Unfortunately, this sort of thing has occurred be- 
fore in his stable, and his horses certainly do run most in- 
consistently. 99 

“ I can spare no pity for men who put trust in him,” 
replied Thea, quietly. “ Does he still live in the old 
house?" 

“ Yes, I believe so; but I have paid you an unconscion- 
ably long visit and must be going. Good-bye, Mrs. Wel- 
stead. Command me if I can be of any service to you. I 
shall be in town all the season . 99 

“ Thanks," said Thea as she shook hands. “ Come and 
see me again soon. By the way, do you ever hear of Mr, 
Musgrave?" 

“ No. He's ruined, you have heard, and gone abroad, 
but nobody seems to know where. Once more, good-bye,” 
and with that Lord Collington took his departure. 

“ Perfectly innocent, no doubt," mused the peer as he 


THE OUTSIDER. 


55 


walked toward Oxford Street, “ but if ever she's a free 
woman. I'll back Musgrave against the field. Poor Hugh! 
I wonder when we shall see him back again. It's al- 
ways the best of them get broke, while beasts like Wei - 
stead wax fat upon their mendacity. I've no doubt he put 
a lot of good fellows ‘ in the hole,' so that he might the 
More easily fill his rapacious pockets the other clay." 

So that's what they've dared to say of me!" murmured 
Thea, as she sat wrapped in thought after Lord Collington 
had left her. “ How came it that Algernon never gave the 
Lie to this rumor? It must have reached his ears, and my 
solicitors could always furnish him with my address if he 
wished for it. He knows there are no grounds for this 
scandalous story and yet he never contradicts it. He could 
have crushed the report at once if he would, but it chimed 
in. too well with his scheme of vengeance. What could 
come of such an ill-starred marriage? I wedded him in a 
moment of pique, he wedded me in a moment of caprice. 
Before our honey-moon was passed he had tired of his new 
toy, and, hard as I strove to mask it, knew he had never 
had my love, and I, poor fool, knew that my heart was out 
of my own keeping. He humiliated me till I could bear it 
no longer, and my leaving him put still another weapon 
into his hands. If ] sinned in marrying him, the punish- 
ment went beforehand in that I should have chained myself 
for life to a man like him. Too late! too late! Had I but 
known Hugh loved me. I'd have been content to wait, and 
that the broad lands were gone, which I scarce knew he 
had possessed, would have made little difference to me. 
Ah, well! it's no use bewailing the past; the fool generally 
pays for his folly, and I hate myself when I think of mine. 
In the meantime I have to reciprocate Lady Dullingham's 
courtesies," and with a mocking smile on her lips, Thea 
rose to dress for dinner. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


/>t> 


CHAPTER VII. 

“follow your luck. " 

We must now look back a week at a scene which, though 
apparently of no importance, was destined eventually to 
exercise considerable influence on the fortunes of some of 
the characters connected with this history. 

It was the concluding day of the Craven Meeting at 
Newmarket, and there was all the usual bustle and scram- 
ble for seats at the railway station customary to the getting 
home from all racing meetings, or, for the matter of that, 
from anything else that attracts a crowd, in these days of 
cheap locomotion. 

“ Room here. Captain Maltby!” cried a stout, thickset 
little man, in a low-crowned hat, ulster, breeches and 
gaiters, and substantial laced-up boots. “ Room here, sir, 
and a seat for the general as well . 99 

“ Don't know who you are," rejoined Cis, “ but much 
obliged to you all the same. Come along, general, this is 
good enough. We’ve no invitation for the royal saloon, 
and can’t afford a special this time.*" 

And with this Cis made his way into the carriage, closely 
followed by a well-known general officer, whose devotion 
to “ the greensward and numbers up 99 was only exceeded 
by his personal popularity. Many will recollect the snow- 
white mustache and immovable serenity of that veteran 
punter’s countenance which no reverses could disturb, 
whose genial manner was never affected however hard the 
battles went against him. He has gone, and the scenes he 
loved so well know him no more. Let us trust he sleeps 
soundly. It was a full carriage. Its occupants consisted 
chiefly of friends of Mr. Robert Sparrow, for such the rac- 
ing satchel he carried over his shoulder informed them Was 


THE OUTSIDER. 


6 ? 


the name of their new acquaintance, and it was with some 
little curiosity, as the train moved off, that Cis inquired 
how Mr. Sparrow came to know his name. 

“ Well, captain, that's easy of explanation. We soon 
get to know by sight all the gentlemen who back horses. 
It's part of our business, and may be useful to us by and 
by, when we get. into Tattersall’s for instance. We bag- 
men all look forward to that." 

££ And have you much difficulty about it?" asked the 
general, who was rather taken with Mr. Sparrow. 

46 In one sense, yes, that is finding the capital. They 
don’t like any one in there who can’t plank down a certain 
amount of dollars. I don’t mean they require you to put 
it down, but they know pretty well what sort of a book you 
dare make. If you’ve money enough and are ‘ straight,’ 
there’s no difficulty about it whatever. There’s my friend, 
Bob Somers, and myself could get in to-morrow it* we 
wanted. Couldn’t we, Bob?" 

The gentleman addressed nodded assent; but expressed 
his opinion it wouldn’t do. 

££ But why not?" exclaimed Cis. “ Surely you would 
command a larger number of customers as a member of 
Tattersall’s?” 

££ Not exactly,’’ replied Mr. Sparrow. * £ 1 dare say you 
have heard that when a barrister first £ takes silk ’ it’s 
always a dead loss to him. That’s just our case. We’re 
at the top of the ready-money business, but it would take 
us some little time to establish a connection in Tattersall’s 
ring, Tattersall’s to us means ‘ taking silk.’ You laugh 
at my illustration, general, but I began life as a solicitor’s 
clerk. ” * 

** Ah! I dare say you’ve seen some queer ups and 
downs,” rejoined the general. 

ki You may say that,” rejoined Mr. Sparrow. 4 4 I came 
of respectable people, and when they had articled me clerk 
to an attorney, they fancied I was well on my way to the 


THE OUTSIDER. 


53 

woolsack and provided for in this life. Well, gentlemen, I 
suppose it’s in the blood, like poetry, but I was always 
6 backing horses when I should engross/ as the poet sings,, 
and that speedily cut short my legal career. My employer 
discovered my propensities, and, gloomily predicting that 
the only figure I should ever make at the law would be in 
the dock of the Old Bailey, chucked me. AVell, I had, as 
luck would have it, a few sovereigns, and I took to the turf 
for a living, and soon found how near one could go to 
starvation. Still, I was learning, and soon saw that for 
gentlemen who loved sport, and knew what they were 
about, backing horses might be all very well, but, if yon 
meant to live by it, fielding was the game. ” 

“ And that’s how you became a book-maker?” remarked 
Cis, who began to think Mr. Sparrow’s story both prosy 
and commonplace. 

“ Not exactly,” rejoined that gentleman; “ that’s only 
how I wanted to become a book-maker. How I succeeded 
is a queer story, if you care to hear it.” 

“ Yes, pray go on; how you fellows get your first start 
has always an interest for me,” said the general. 

* 6 AVell, sir, I was broke — so broke as I hope I never shall 
be again — ‘ dead stony,’ barely expresses it. I had no 
decent clothes but those I stood upright in; I’d had noth- 
ing but a crust of bread to eat all day, and I hadn’t a 
half-penny in my pocket. I was passing one of the West 
End clubs — there were a lot of swells in evening dress 
lounging on the steps smoking — and, for the first and last 
time in my life, I begged. You must have got pretty low 
down in the world, gentlemen, before you come to that! 
ifs a pill that takes a deal of swallowing, but I screwed 
up my courage at last, and asked if there was anyone would 
give a cleared-out man a trifle to get something to eat 
with. AVell, I can see it all now as I saw it then. It was 
a full moon in May, and the square was as light as day. 
There was one gentleman only who took the slightest 


THE OUTSIDER* 


59 


notice of my appeal. A dark man, a little above the 
average height, and wearing a light gray overcoat over his 
evening dress. 

44 4 What, dead broke, are you, my man?' said he, com- 
ing down a step or two, 4 brethren in misfortune should try 
and help one another. I only hope you have not made 
such a mess of it as I have/ and with that he threw me 
what I thought was a shilling. When I picked it up I saw 
it was a sovereign, and told him so. 

44 4 Never mind, my man/ he said with a laugh, 4 keep it 
and follow your luck; I meant to give you a shilling/ 
Well, I thanked him and walked away. My first thought 
was to get something to eat, but somehow that 4 follow 
your luck/ kept singing in my ears. There was racing 
going on at Croydon the next day, and I resolved to see 
what I could do there. I went to bed supperless, and 
walked the next morning to Croydon, so as not to break 
into my precious sovereign. I asked for a drink of milk at 
a cottage on the way down, and they gave me a crust of 
bread with it; I have had many a good breakfast since, but 
I don't think I ever enjoyed one more than that mug of 
milk and crust of bread. When I got on the course the 
first thing I did was to find a penny. Well, you know the 
old saying, gentlemen, 4 found money brings luck.' The 
first race was evens against the favorite — I put my sovereign 
on the field! It came off. I followed my luck the whole 
of that afternoon, had a rare good meal outlie course, 
4i nd went home by rail, with eleven sovereigns in my pocket. 
It's a curious thing, but Fortune has never turned her 
back on me irom that day to this. " 

44 Did you ever make out who gave you the sovereign?" 
inquired the general. 

44 Never," replied Mr. Sparrow. 44 1 should know him 
anywhere, but I have never set eyes on him since. I 
should like to thank him too, for his sovereign made me. 
I didn't know the West End well at that time, and knew 


THE OUTSIDER. 


60 

neither the name of the square nor the club, but if ever I 
have the chance to do that gentleman a turn he may 
count on Bob Sparrow. ” 

“ I suppose you’ve had a rare good week?” said Ois; 
‘‘ it 's gone the way of your fraternity all along/' 

“ Yes, sir, we’ve had a good time, and Iliad an extra 
good race over the Craven Stakes/’ 

“ Ilow was that? It was a woful knockdown for back- 
ers, and, of course, good for you; but why extra good?” 
said Cis. 

u Of course, you understand, w r hen we keep a horse to 
run for our book, that is, won’t bet against him, it must or 
ought to be an outsider. Kow, Mr. Welstead I reckon as 
clever a man as there is on the turf. His favorites are 
generally unlucky, but when he has at all a likely outsider 
1 always make a book for it and back it for a little besides. 
That’s what I did about the Craven Stakes; I took one 
Hundred and fifty pounds to eight about the winner, and 
laid against everything else nearly in the race.” 

“ I only wish I had done the same,” said the general, 
laughing; “ but here we are at Liverpool Street. Come 
along, Maltby. Good-bye, Mr. Sparrow, and many thanks 
for that most amusing fragment of your autobiography.” 

Amusing!” exclaimed the book-maker. “ By heav- 
ens! I can’t say I found much amusement in it. Well, 
good-bye, gentlemen. 1 hope you’ll give me a turn one of 
these days. Even if what you w ant is a little too big for 
me, Somers will always take a bit off my hands. ” 

“ I’ll not forget,” replied the general, as he got into the 
cab which Maltby had hailed. 

“ Do you think that fellow r told us the truth, or was he 
only yarning?” asked Cis, as they drove westward. 

“ I fancy his story is true enough. There are many of 
these fellows could astonish us with the recital of how they 
made their first big step up the ladder. But the same 
qualities would have served them anywhere else. That 


THE OUTSIDER. 


61 


fellow. Sparrow, showed plenty of pluck and self-denial in 
walking down to Croydon, and keeping his sovereign to bet 
with.” 

“.I wonder who the deuce gave it him?” said Cis, medi- 
tatively. 

“ Not very likely he will ever know now,” replied the 
general. “ He has never come across his benefactor since, 
which looks as if that philanthrophist had given up racing. 
Sensible man. You’d better do the same. It’s all very 
well for an old sinner like me, who has neither chick nor 
child belonging to him, but a young fellow like you, Malt- 
by, ought to be looking out for a wife instead of fooling 
your money away in this manner.” 

“ Halloo, general! This from you is the last stone — the 
very last log on my funeral pyre. To have had a real bad 
week at Newmarket, and then to be lectured by the Nestor 
in whose wisdom one had trusted, is more than any hard- 
beset dragoon can struggle against.” 

“ Well, it is rather rough,” replied the general, laugh, 
ing, “ to lure you to ruin all the week, and then wig you 
for losing your money to wind up with. Mr. Sparrow 
teaches us a lesson. How can we expect to hold our own 
against the professionals? These fellows live on a race- 
course and are nurtured on turf guides and sheet calen- 
dars! They talk nothing but weights and equine scandal. 
Of course they know more than we do. Pm an old hand, 
and yet, till it is recalled to my recollection, I overlooked 
the fact that Welstead has a knack of winning with out- 
siders. Men like Sparrow don’t. They never miss a point 
in the game. What a cackle there is when the gentlemen 
are winners over a big race, but how wondrous seldom that 
cackle is heard.” 

“ Now, general, here we are at your rooms. A truce to 
moralizing; it never mended matters yet, and is sheer w aste 
of time. Let’s dine together at the Theatine, and have a 


THE OVTSIDER. 


bottle of champagne to wash Newmarket and the Cravens 
out of our memories.” 

All right. Kun across, look sharp, and dress, and 
then go on and order dinner. I’m confoundedly hungry. 
One gets an appetite racing, if one gets nothing else.” 

They were great allies, those two, in spite of the disparity 
' : their years, but Cis had been the general’s aid-de-camp 
in India during the last command the veteran had held pre- 
vious to his retirement, and this had cemented a friendship 
between them that could scarce have been attained in any 
other way. Then they were both passionately fond of rac- 
ing. which was another bond between them; General Lov- 
ett, indeed, rarely missed any of the principal meetings, 
while such time as Cis Maltby could snatch from his mili- 
tary duties was usually devoted to sport of some kind. He 
was master of his fortunes, for his father had been dead 
some years, and, though a dashing better when he fancied 
a horse, was no neophyte, and had method in his madness. 
If he was hit rather hard at times, he took his reverses as 
he did most things, coolly, and bided his time to recover 
lbs losses, so that upon the whole he did not do himself 
much harm. Two things rather ran in his head as he 
walked down to the Theatine. That story of Mr. Bobert 
Sparrow’s with its refrain of “ Follow your luck.” He 
wondered who the man was who all unconsciously had laid 
the foundation of the book-maker’s fortunes. Then his 
thoughts recurred to the general’s last bit of advice. What 
the deuce made him say that: And then Cis’s thoughts 
traveled back to a certain day’s cover shooting last winter 
in Barkshire, and a piquant e-looking gypsy face that had 
looked saucily up into his from beneath a coquettish hat 
and scarlet feather, and had altogether made that a very 
red-letter day in his sporting calendar. What a storm it 
bad all been to finish with, and he was wondering whether 
the squire and the M. H. had thoroughly made up their 
quarrel as he entered the portals of the Theatine. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


63 

He went to the coffee-room desk and was soon puzzling 
his handsome head over the intricacies of the menu , for he 
knew from experience that the general liked to dine well, 
when a friend touched him on the shoulder and said : 

“ Don't suppose you did any good at Newmarket, Malt- 
by? Nobody did, that I can hear. I wasn't down there, 
but I lost my money over the Craven Stakes all the same. 
That fellow Welstead's a jrositive nuisance. He never 
seems to know anything about his own horses." 

“ Don't distress yourself about him," rejoined Cis. 
“ That innocent can take very good care of himself. The 
impression down there was he'd a very good race." 

“ Just what I always said," rejoined the other. “ W el- 
stead is always putting the double on the public that way, 
and ought to be warned off the turf." 

Mr. Torkover had never thought anything of the kind 
before, much less said it. He knew nothing of racing, and 
had had a’ couple of sovereigns on the beaten favorite, the 
loss of which he deeply resented, and alluded to as a good 
bit of money, when referring to his reverses. He was one 
of that numerous class of club loungers who pass their lives 
in the circulation of gossip, and, above all, anecdotes. 

“ Heard the last story they've got at the Wycherley?" 
he continued. “ You know Wylie Pinchbeck, the enter- 
tainer, by name, at all events. He's an awful swaggerer 
about the swells lie's acquainted with, goes to their houses 
professionally, you know. He was giving himself awful 
airs in the smoking-room there the other night, said Lady 
Amwell had asked him to dinner to meet the Prince of 
Wales, and — 

“ ‘ — Bring a song, 'suddenly drawled out Charley Wrey. * ' 

“No! How good," said Cis, laughing. “Charley's 
just the man to say it. He hates swagger, and there’s not 
a more dangerous man to put side on before in all Eng- 
land." 


THK Ol’TSrhKR. 


64 

“ Shut Pinchbeck up for the evening, they say/’" observed 
M. Torkover, and he lounged on to retail the anecdote 
elsewhere, and to dilate on Welstead's iniquities. 

Gad! 1 * muttered Cis. “ I was afraid the little beggar 
meant volunteering to join me at dinner, and then, thick- 
skinned as he is, I should have had to crush him. If he 
has lost his money over Welstead's crack, London is like to 
hear extensively of that gentleman's shifty maneuvers. 
Commend me to a small punter for haranguing over the 
shameful way he has been tricked out of his money on an 
occasion of this kind. Hurrah! here you are, general. 
Come along. I've picked up a good story with which to 
flavor the soup, and we'll let the Craven Stakes go hang 
till Monday, and then 1 suppose we must revert to that 
painful subject." 

General Lovett laughed heartily over Charley Wrey's dis- 
comfiture of Mr. Pinchbeck, and by the time they had fin- 
ished a magnum of Heidsieck, Cis's liberal interpretation 
of a bottle, the twain had entirely forgotten their New- 
market reverses. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“ CIS GIVES HIS OPINION." 

The London season draws on. The rnerry month of 
May, with all its merry accompaniments of cough and ca- 
tarrh, is in full blast. The pictures at the Academy have 
been, according to annual custom, pronounced the very 
worst exhibition ever seen. The result of the Two Thou- 
sand has to some extent upset calculation; although the 
winner was a prominent favorite, still he ran better than 
his opponents expected, and beat horses more fancied by 
the public. Never mind, Epsom ami Ascot lie before the 
noble army of plungers with all their golden harvest, to 
which those dauntless gamblers still look forward sanguine 


THE OUTSIDER. 


65 


as ever, ofttimes as they have proved that the garnering of 
the golden grain was not for them. The great dinner 
month, with all its wassail, speechifying and free-handed 
plate-filling, runs merrily onward. The Academy Banquet 
is over. The Literary Fund, the Dramatic Fund, the 
Press, the Artists, have all drunk and harangued. Every 
regiment in the service is passing the wine-cup and indulg- 
ing in a gossip over old days. What cheery gatherings 
they are for a time, when the veterans who helped blazon 
the colors meet the young guard who have charge of them 
now. The juniors look with curiosity at those who have 
left their mark in regimental tradition. That's Jones, who 
won the V. 0. for spiking those guns at Lucknow. There's 
Thompson, who rode the winner of the Grand Military 
twelve years ago. That's Brown, who pulled the match 
out of the fire when Quebec played Montreal in the old 
Canada days, etc. While the old hands look with interest 
on those who have taken their places, and are keen to know 
what the regimental eleven is like now, and whether the 
band is as good as it used to be. # 

Cheery gatherings for a time; but alas! the year comes 
when you miss the dinner for the first time since you sold 
out. The gout lias you fast by the leg. On the next anni- 
versary you don't feel quite up to the mark. Three years 
slip by, and when next you make your appearance you are 
conscious of vacant chairs . To the eye of a spectator, 
there is not a seat unoccupied; but to you, three or four 
forms are missing, and you think sadly, as, in answer to 
your inquiries, you are told they will never pledge you 
more, of the days of fun and frolic, of the hazards and 
hard times, you have shared with them. Yet another year 
or two, and there will be few to even recognize you, at the 
annual gathering. As you take your place at the board, it 
seems surrounded with dead mien's faces. You think of 
Praed's lines, and as you sip a preliminary glass of sherry, 
mutter: - 


3 


THE OUTSIDER. 


66 

“ And now I’m in the world alone, 

No friend to share my beaker, 

Some lie beneath the church yard stone. 

And some before the Speaker.” 

But two of the infirmities of old age are creeping on you — 
it is open to question whether they are not blessings— a 
blunting of the feelings, and a blunting of the memory; 
and with the turtle-soup and the punch, such feelings fade 
slowly away, and you take a languid interest in what is go- 
ing on around you. God help you! it is time you had done 
with such feasting. Go home and re-echo the prayer of the 
great novelist. Pray God that, sooner than let you fall 
into selfish apathy. He “ keep your memory green-” 

It was a late Easter that year, and, as Charley Wrey 
said, “ What is the use of any one being in time when that 
is the case?” He was a notorious offender against the laws 
of punctuality, and the sophism stood him in good stead. 
But as Easter regulates all our national festivals, so it came 
to pass that it was a late season. What regulates Easter 
is an altitude of* knowledge that only bewilders those who 
attain it. The knowledge speedily fades, and leaves noth- 
ing but confusion behind it. There are mysteries into 
which it is well not to pry, and this is one of them. Still, 
as the season wore on it was apparent that Mrs. Welstead 
had made good her footing in society. She certainly did 
not go everywhere, as she had done in days of yore; but she 
was received in quite a sufficient number of good houses to 
make her position tolerably assured. True, Lady Dulling- 
ham, and sundry other ladies who followed her lead, won- 
dered “ how people could call upon that Mrs. Welstead / 51 
wondered “ what society was coming to, and whether the 
lion of virtue was expected to lie down with such very 
black lambs as that.” But it was useless to pretend that 
Thea was without the pale. To any one versed in the 
ways of the London world it was evident that, in a short 
time, society would have forgotten that she had a husband. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


67 


Mr. Welstead rareJy was seen amongst its crushes nowa- 
days, and Thea bade fair to be accepted as “ a grass 
widow.” To occupy the place she once had amongst soci- 
ety’s ranks was impossible. She was no longer mistress of 
a large house, backed by a large income; and though her 
friends had insisted upon a very liberal allowance being set- 
tled on her, still three thousand a year does not admit of 
entertaining on a large scale in London. 

It would be difficult to say why exactly, but Miss Har- 
wood took the greatest possible interest in Mrs. Welstead. 
It may be that the account of Thea’s witching horseman- 
ship had won her heart, for Miss Harwood, with her sport- 
ing instincts, was just the girl to look with much reverence 
upon a lady who had shown the way to all the crack horse- 
men of the Bedminster. It may have been the chivalrous 
instinct in her character, which prompted Julia always to 
espouse the losing side, and more especially in this case, in 
which she had reason to believe that the weaker side had to 
contend against injustice and ill-usage. It may be that 
excellent feminine reason, which, like their mother, the 
daughters of Eve seem never able to resist, had swayed 
her. Valentine, while stating his belief in Mrs. Welstead ’s 
innocence, had cautioned his sister that Thea was not an 
advisable acquaintance for a girl to make just at present. 

“ I fancy she’ll pull through all right, Ju, but there’s 
been so much talk about her that you had best keep clear 
of Mrs. Welstead for the present, if you can. You don’t 
know her, and don’t seek to just now. ” 

44 I’ll not go out of my way, Val; but I’m not going to 
be such a mean-spirited creature as to decline Mrs. Wel- 
stead’ s acquaintance because she’s a calumniated woman.” 

44 Don’t be a fool, J u. A girl like you can do Mrs. 
Welstead no good; but you can do yourself a good deal of 
harm.” 

44 Do you suppose I care what people say of me?” re- 
torted Miss Harwood, haughtily. 


68 


THE OUTSIDER. 


No; because you've yet to learn that young women 
can’t tilt against wind-mills, and that the chivalry of immo- 
lation in these days is regarded not as noble, but as idi- 
otic.” 

“ I will trust to my own judgment, not to yours,” re- 
joined Julia. 

“ No doubt,” replied her brother. “ Like the doctor, - 
my duty is done when I have given advice. I can’t see it 
taken.” And, as he sauntered out of the room, the story 
of the Tewkesbury pig recurred to his mind, and I am 
afraid some analogy between his sister and that famous ani- 
mal, regarding persistency of purpose, shot through his 
brain. Yal Harwood was very fond of his sister in his own 
way, and was always jealous of her making what he consid- 
ered compromising acquaintances. 

But if Miss Harwood placed little reliance upon her 
brother’s judgment, and indeed was a little apt to run 
counter to it, for no better reason than that she had been 
recommended not to do so and so, still there was some one 
who was a pretty constant visitor in Portman Square for 
whose advice Julia had considerable respect, and this was 
Cis Maltby. That insouciant dragoon was now quartered 
at Aldershot, and therefore the metropolis saw a good deal 
of him, and so moreover did Miss Harwood. We are 
rather given to admire in others the very qualities in which 
we are deficient ourselves. Julia, quick-tempered, ener- 
getic, and impatient of delay, was full of admiration for 
the imperturbable sang-froid of Cis Maltby. It was very 
different from the cool, indolent inertness of her brother. 
Cis was keen about every description of sport, but whether 
striding over the heather, whether standing a raker on the 
favorite, or whether coming twenty miles an hour at one 
of those yawners which, as old Tom Oliver used to say, 

“ had everlasting misery on the one side and pretty certain 
destruction on the other,” nobody had ever seen Cis Hur- 
ried. In fact, the more complicated the occasion the more 


THE OUTSIDER. 


W 


Cis seemed to rise to it. One of his special chums always 
averred that Maltby was no use in an easy country. 

“ He don’t regularly wake up till the chances of break- 
ing his neck are getting rosy, and then by Jove he can go. ** 

“ Well, Captain Maltby,” said Julia, as Cis made his 
not altogether unexpected appearance in the drawing-room 
at Portman Square toward the end of May. “ The Two 
Thousand Week, I fear, suited you no better than the 
Craven. Is Epsom to redeem your fortunes?" 

“ I don’t know; I didn’t do badly myself over the Guin- 
eas,” rejoined Cis. “ I backed the winner; he had always 
run a good honest horse, and belonged to a man whose* 
horses are always run in the most straightforward manner. 
When a good horse is in the hands of a good man he is 
worth following, Miss Harwood, and I am standing him. 
again for the Derby." 

“ Whatever his horses may be, Mr. Welstead don’t seem 
to come under that denomination; the papers are pretty 
severe in their strictures over the Craven Stakes, and I 
hear him most soundly abused in society. Besides, how 
very annoying it must be for that poor wife of his.” 

“ Yes,” rejoined Cis.,' “if ever a woman did make a mess 
of matrimony, she did! As Charley Wrey says, if you only 
look at the frames you can’t expect to buy good pictures. 

I don’t suppose it is in Algernon Welstead’s nature to deal 
fairly, and yet, to follow up the metaphor, there was so 
much gorgeous gilding around him , that many a woman in 
London would have shut her eyes to the picture." 

“ This won’t do, Captain Maltby, cynicism is not your 
line. You don’t mean to tell me that Mrs. Welstead mar- 
ried her husband for his money?” 

“ No! I don’t altogether mean that, and I don’t know 
that I quite believe it; still, why did she do it? I’ll grant 
that Welstead is a good-looking man, and can make him- 
self very agreeable when he likes, but purely there must 
have been some one to tell her what manner of man he 


70 


THE OUTSIDER. 


was. I don't know Mrs. Welstead, but when a girl mar- 
ries such an unscrupulous vouv as Algernon \\ elstead, she 
must be surely counting more on the position he can give 
her than on domestic happiness. " 

“ Like you, Captain Maltby," cried Julia, “I do not 
know Mrs. Welstead, but I admire her exremely, and feel 
quite sure that she has been badly treated and grossly de- 
ceived, and shall take the earliest opportunity of making 
her acquaintance." 

Cis looked at her for a moment with no little surprise. 
He was rather taken aback at this strange championship of 
Tliea by Miss Harwood. 

“ Yes; badly treated she has been, no doubt, but about 
being grossly deceived I'm not so sure; she must have 
known Algy Welstead's evil reputation just as well as she 
knew his wealth and position." 

“ Fll not believe a word of it," said Miss Harwood. 
“ Like many another girl, she married her husband in gross 
ignorance of his real character. There was no one to warn 
her, and she was left to find that out for herself." 

Cis was silent for a few minutes, and then said: 

“ I wouldn't be in a hurry to make Mrs. Welstead's 
acquaintance, if you will excuse me for saying so. Miss 
Harwood." 

“ Why not? I don't believe any one really thinks there 
is anything against her, not even that supercilious Lady 
Dullingham. Mr. Wrey told me so the other night, when 
I met him at the Marindins'. 4 The countess,' he said, 
laughing, ‘ has given the cut direct, and lives in dread of a 
home-thrust under her guard in reply. But she can't go 
back. She meant to crush Mrs. Weistead, and now she 
finds she has not altogether succeeded she is rather appre- 
hensive of reprisals." 

“ Yes, Wrey always vows there will be a lively passage 
of arms when those two meet; but I should suggest. Miss 


THE OUTSIDER. 


71 


Harwood, that you had better be a looker-on than a parti- 
san.” 

44 That’s not like you. Captain Maltby. I am sure you 
would stand stanchly enough by any friend of yours who 
was in trouble. ” 

44 But what has that to do with it?” said Cis. 44 Mrs. 
Welstead is not a friend of yours. You don’t even know 
her.” 

44 I can’t argue with you,” replied Julia, smiling, 44 but 
I know I’m right. It doesn’t want much pluck, nor does 
it evoke much gratitude, to take part with the winning side. 
People are grateful to those who stand by them in their 
difficulties, and, I should think, have the most sovereign 
contempt for those who proffer their friendship when 
they’ve got into smooth waters.” 

“I am not the rose, but I’ve lived near her,” replied 
Cis, sententiously. 44 Did you ever hear the converse of that 
aphorism?” 

“No.” 

44 I am not the old gentleman, but I have lived in his 
set, ” continued Cis, gravely. 

44 Captain Maltby!” exclaimed Julia, laughing. 

44 Don’t be shocked, Miss Harwood, 4 the bearings of 
this observation,’ as Cap’en Cuttle would say, 4 lies in the 
application of it.’ There’s something about 4 known by his 
pals,’ in the Latin grammar. There was a real good fel- 
low, a friend of mine, who, I assure you, quite lost his 
place in the world in that way. He had a faculty for know- 
ing what may be termed 4 bad lots. ’ He never did any- 
thing shady himself, but he was always knocking about 
with those who did. Of course, he might just as well have 
taken part in their iniquities. One half the world thought 
he did, so the other half pitied him, and took a 4 hey-diddle- 
diddle, the fool in the middle ’ view of the case. ” 

44 Captain Maltby, you are rather exceeding your privi- 
leges,” said Julia, trying hard to suppress her laughter. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ Ten thousand pardons, Miss Harwood. I know I am 
given to get prosy when I begin story-telling. " 

“ But what has all this to do with Mrs. Welstead?" 

“I'm sure I don't know if you don’t/' replied Ois. 
“We were talking of her, by the way, when I began to 
wax garrulous about poor Tom Goodson. Growing old, I 
suppose, and running to babble." He was about thirty- 
three, and stood every inch of his six-feet-one. “ I suppose 
you will be at Mrs. Petersham's big function?" 

“ Yes. All London, I hear, is to be there — that is, all 
- London that is any one. " 

“Y"es," said Cis, 44 and several who only think them- 
selves some one. And now I must say good-bye. I shall 
hope to meet you there. ' ' 

What Cis Maltby had said made considerably more im- 
pression upon Julia than her brother's remarks. It was 
quite evident that, without any prejudice against Mrs. 
Welstead, Cis thought she had better not seek Thea's ac- 
quaintance at present, and, as before said, Julia held Cap- 
tain Maltby's opinion in much veneration. 


CHAPTER IX. 

“mlle. therese." 

“ It's a great thing to be a humbug. It means hitting 
the public in reality. Anybody who can do so is sure to be 
called a humbug by somebody who can't." 

I don't suppose that greatest of showmen, Albert Smith, 
would see much cause to alter these words, which he puts 
in the mouth of one of his characters, if he were alive now. 
No one was a better judge of the thing than the hero of 
Mont Blanc. I say hero, for I don't suppose outside the 
Alpine Club any interest was ever taken in anybody else's 
ascent of that mountain. The two famous entertainers, 
of Egyptian Hall memory, Albert Smith and Artemus 


THE OUTSIDER. 


7 $ 


Ward, had a wonderfully keen perception of humbugs. 
They reveled in exposing them, and, at the same time r 
rather gloried in being humbugs themselves. It is a pity 
there are not a few more of the same kidney. Such laugh- 
ter as they wrung from us effaced the memory of many a 
toilsome day when things had gone awry. 

A decade sees a good many false gods (humbugs) set up 
for worship in fashionable London, and their High Priests 
for the time get much known, and are welcomed in high 
places. But the artificial cult soon fades away, and then 
the priests of that dead religion find their temples empty 
and their creed flouted. Where are the worshipers of cro- 
quet? Where are the votaries of the roller skate? Where 
the leaders of the aesthetic movement, who earnestly en- 
deavored to live up to the blue china craze? for soon that 
craze subsided, or rather was diverted into a passion for the 
more gorgeous coloring of eastern porcelain. No, it is easy 
to be a great humbug— the thing is to keep it up. We all 
know the story of single speech Hamilton. “You may 
paint/ ’ as Mr. Carlyle says, “ with a very big brush, and yet 
not be a great painter.” No, but you may get the name 
of one, and retain it through life if you are careful, or an 
accomplished humbug. It is a great thing to establish a 
reputation for reserved force. Your picture or your book 
was pretty good, but it was nothing to what you can do. 
The world often exults what A could do far above what B 
has done; and life runs on and the last chapter is turned 
down for both A and B, and the next generation demand 
cynically why A was held in such repute in his day. There 
is no one left with courage to falter out the true answer. 
His talent for humbug has served A^s turn, and B, the 
hard- worker, was' dwarfed all his life by the stupendous 
shadow of A's apocryphal genius. In like manner the 
Harry Sandfords of this world, with their cold-blooded 
temperaments, blacken by contrast the careers of the hot- 
headed Tommy Mertons. 


74 


THE OUTSIDER. 


There was high revel in the big house in Portland Place 
that had once called Tliea mistress. Another lady now 
figured in that capacity, and it was whispered about that at 
last Algernon Welstead had met his match. He was a man 
for whom many a woman had shed salt tears, but who at 
last had fallen into the hands of a shrill- tong ued virago, 
hard and pitiless as himself. Mile. Therese Gamier, his 
present sultana, was an unprincipled Frenchwoman, with 
the chief vices of her class under a prepossessing exterior. 
She had entered that house as Mrs. Welstead ’s maid, and 
speedily took advantage of the frailty of the master of the 
house as far as her sex was ooncerned, to make him her 
lover. Presuming on the fact, the femme-de-chambre 
waxed insolent; and when Thea discharged her, had act- 
ually influence sufficient over Welstead to induce him to re- 
Toke his wife’s decision. It was scarcely likely that any 
woman would submit to so gross an insult as that. Thea’s 
decision was prompt and decided; she told her husband 
haughtily that either that woman must leave the house or 
she. In a fit of passion Welstead told her she could do as 
she liked, but that most assuredly Mile. Gamier should re- 
main where she was. Half an hour had scarce elapsed be- 
fore Thea had left her husband’s house for good, nor had 
the ill-matched couple ever communicated since, except 
through their solicitors. 

Flushed with her victory, Mile. Gamier redoubled her 
agaceries, and rapidly attained an influence over Welstead 
such as no woman had ever exercised before. 

No sooner did she deem her position thoroughly assured 
than the violent domineering character of the French- 
woman began to assert itself. She had clutched eagerly 
the reins which Thea so disdainfully threw down, and 
speedily established herself as mistress of the house. Such 
servants as demurred to acknowledgment of her authority 
were promptly dismissed, and before the month was out 
the household thoroughly comprehended that Mile. The- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


75 


rese was not only their mistress, but a mistress who put up 
with no shortcomings. Implicit obedience and no negli- 
gence were the chief factors in mademoiselle’s code of gov- 
ernment, and the servants who had elected to remain rue- 
fully looked back upon the easy rule of Mrs. Welstead as 
compared with that of the whimsical, capricious virago 
who was now their mistress. With the upper servants the 
struggle had been^severe. The housekeeper and the butler 
had been with Algernon Welstead some time, and were loath 
to leave good places in which the pickings were considera- 
ble. Mile. There se scrutinized their accounts in a way to 
which they were unaccustomed, and bluntly stated that in 
her opinion they were brigands , voleurs , etc. Mrs. Capsi- 
cum at once appealed to her master, who, with a mocking 
smile, recommended her, if she valued her place, to en- 
deavor to please Mile. Gamier. Then Mrs. Capsicum, so 
to speak, threw away the scabbard, and, loudly asseverat- 
ing that she would stand no nonsense from French trash, 
tendered her resignation. But Mr. Magnum clung tena- 
ciously to his bins. Such a place as his was not to be 
picked up every day, as he very well knew, and, moreover,, 
mademoiselle could not exercise the same check over him 
that she did over Mrs. Capsicum. 

“ It’s hinfra dig , Bubbles, I know, to be ’anding round 
Giesler’s Brut to an ex-lady’s-maid, but, you see, the situa- 
tion suits me, the salary’s liberal and the duties tolerably 
easy, and then, Bub, one must regard one’s ’ealth. There’s 
that port wine I keeps for my own drinking, suits me 
to a turn; now an inferior tap might upset my constitution. 
No, Bub, my boy, at our time of life we must be careful, 
and if the parley-vooer gets outrageous I must just doctor 
her claret a bit, that’s all.” 

“I suppose she’s uncommon handsome, this French- 
woman, eh?” rejoined Bubbles. “ Turning a gentleman’s 
head, and exploding a domestic suckle in this fashion, she 
ought to be a reg’lar screamer. ” 


76 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ She's a figger, she has/" replied Mr. Magnum critical- 
ly. “ She's a smart young woman, with brows black as 
thunder, and eyes like corkscrews; they go through you. 
They make you think she knows there's a glass short in the 
claret decanter. " 

“ A reg'lar vampire," replied Mr. Bubbles. “ I was in 
a family once where there was an 'ouse-maid of that nature. 
What eyes that girl had! Real gimlets! She'd a cast in 
'em besides, which made it so very perplexing. You never 
knew quite when they were upon you. " 

But Mr. Magnum was rather huffed at the idea of the 
Delilah of Portland Place being likened to a cock-eyed 
house-maid, and departed in dudgeon. 

Meanwhile Mile. Therese Gamier had intwined herself 
around Algernon Welstead's by no means pliable nature in 
a way as common as incomprehensible. Sampson and De- 
lilah, Hercules and Omphale, Nelson and Lady Hamilton, 
the old, old story always repeats itself and creates as much 
astonishment as ever. It was but the other day there per- 
ished miserably in Paris a daughter of the gutter, at whose 
table the bluest blood in all Europe had been frequently 
gathered. No one can account for the strange and fatal 
fascination some women are destined to exercise over men. 
It is the converse of Dr. Fell, “ the reason why I can not 
tell," but it is given to certain women to suck the very 
marrow out of men's bones. Les mangeuses, the French 
call them. 

It was a new experience for Algernon Welstead to find 
the gyves round his limbs. In all his relations with the 
sex it had . been so essentially the reverse. His marital 
chains had troubled him but little, and ere they had time to 
chafe had come about that liaison with Mile. Therese and 
his rupture with his wife. Slowly but surely, in part by 
her cajoleries, in part by the fierce vehemence of her vio- 
lent temper, Therese Gamier had established a hold upon 
this man which he vainly endeavored to throw off. It is so 


THE OUTSIDER. 


77 


at times. Did not the great, determined, and unscrupulous 
Mr. Barry Lyndon fall at last under the thrall of a hand- 
some shrew, and suffer much discomfort and occasion much 
scandal on that account: Has not Horatius Flaccus told 
us how the princely Maecenas could neither live with his 
wife nor without her? We all know what that means. A 
stormy, tempestuous existence, in which the sunny mo- 
ments compensate for the whirlwinds which so often sweep 
across it. Again and again had Welstead vowed that he'd 
have no more of Mile.. Therese. Fierce had the battle 
raged between them, but somehow it always ended in a 
parley, and when that is the case we may be sure that vic- 
tory rested with the woman. 

Algernon Welstead was lounging over his breakfast-ta- 
ble, glancing occasionally at two or three of the sporting 
papers which lay ready to his hand, and now and again 
studying the last volume of the “ Racing Calendar ” which 
lay open by his plate, when suddenly Mr. Magnum entered 
and jiresented him with a daintily folded note. A glance 
sufficed^toshow Welstead who his billet-doux was from, and 
as for its contents he could make a pretty fair guess at 
them. He had not seen Mile. Therese that morning, but 
the burden of such notes as these was easy to arrive at. 

Money! money! Such was the invariable chorus of The- 
resets lay. He believed she was a good housekeeper. Mrs. 
Capsicum, indeed, had told him that no servant who re- 
spected herself could put up with Miss Garnier's grasping 
ways. Some few of the trades-people had ventured to com- 
ment on how very “ near ” mademoiselle was with them; 
the curt, stern reply was that he (Mr. Welstead) never 
troubled himself about such matters, but that as his cus- 
tom apparently didn’t suit them he would give it elsewhere. 
The trades-people were tolerably reticent after this; but 
now and again it reached Welstead *s ears by a side wind 
that liberality was by no means considered Mile. Garnier’s 


78 


THE OUTSIDER. 


predominant weakness, and yet, careless as he was in 
money matters, Welstead was rather staggered at finding 
his house cost him more than it had ever done yet. Mile. 
Therese had one of the foibles of her countrywomen: with 
those that are honest it becomes thrift, with such as the ex- 
femme-de-chambre it becomes cupidity. A cold-blooded 
though violent woman, mademoiselle's passions were always 
subservient to mademoiselle's interests. She had a lust for 
gold, not to squander it, but to hoard it. She loved lux- 
ury, but in homely language she had a keen eye for “ fill- 
ing the stocking " at the same time. She cared for Alger- 
non Welstead as much as it is in the nature of her kind to 
care about any one; but she would never have committed 
the indiscretion of thus allying herself with poverty. 

Welstead sat twisting the note for some time in his 
fingers. Once more he determined, as he had determined 
at least a dozen times before, to break his chains. Yes, he 
would write mademoiselle a check, ay, a good big one this 
time, but it should be the last. The relations between him 
and Mile. Therese should be brought to an end. He was 
tired of both her temper and her extravagance. His reso- 
lutions are broken in upon by a tap at the door, and in re- 
sponse to his command to enter a smartly dressed soubrette 
glides into the room. The femme-de-chambre of the ex- 
femme-de-cliambre has been judiciously chosen; although 
coquettishly dressed she is a young woman around whom 
Nature has thrown her protecting shield against the wiles 
of man. The coquetry of her attire only enhances her na- 
tive ugliness, and it is evident that Mile. Gamier would 
guard her lover from further temptation. 

“ My mistress wishes to see you, sir, before you go out, if 
convenient." 

“ Very well. Tell her she must look sharp, as I shall 
be off in half an hour." 

He might not have broken his gyves, but he treated his 
enslaver with scant courtesy. It was a sort of protest 


THE OUTSIDER. 


79 


against her inferiority of class, and the subject of bitter 
contention between them. Algernon Welstead was not un- 
courteous to women naturally, but in Mile. Gamier* s case 
it was a mute tribute to the memory of his wife, whom, in 
spite of his infatuation, he freely acknowledged to be of 
other clay than her ci-devant maid. 

Another ten minutes, and the handsome Frenchwoman 
swept into the room, attired in most becoming deshabille. 
Bold, dark-eyed, black-browed, with a superb figure, and 
white teeth, which she showed just a little too much, ma- 
demoiselle was a grand type of animal beauty, but a phys- 
iognomist would have at once foretold that there was a 
mere shriveled soul behind that beautiful mask. 

I am sorry to have to trouble you, Algernon/* she said, 
as she cast a keen, scrutinizing glance at his somewhat 
clouded brow, “ but you must let me have some money to- 
day. There are lots of bills to pay.** 

“ You are always wanting money,** he replied. “ The 
more I give you, the more it seems I may give you.** 

Cf You can not live in the way you do for nothing. I 
presume you wish your establishment kept up as it always 
has been?** 

“ That is one thing — that it is costing more now than it 
ever did before is another, which perhaps you will explain. 
There is, at all events, no necessity for your playing the 
great lady.” 

“ I dare say I play the role as well as my predecessor/* 
sneered the Frenchwoman. 

“ Silence, you jade!** cried Welstead fiercely, who, in- 
famous as his conduct had been, had still enough decency 
left to resent the introduction of his wife*s name into their 
disputes. “ i)on*t forget you were but a soubrette the 
other day, and living on soubrette 9 s wages.** 

“ Polite on your part to remind me of it, monsieur. And 
when I was a soubrette I comported myself as one. You 
thought proper to make me mistress of your menage , and 


80 


THE OUTSIDER. 


I will be treated as the mistress of a house like this should 
be. Fll not play the beggar-maid when it has pleased the 
king to set me at his right hand.” 

“I don't want you to play the beggar-maid,” rejoined 
Welstead, sharply: “ there's a medium between that and 
playing the Queen of Sheba. Bear in mind what you were, 
and put some curb on your extravagance.” 

“ Ah, miserable . You taunt me with what I was. Is it 
for you to throw that in my teeth? If I lowered myself to 
take service and become a lady's-maid, was it not for love 
of thee?” 

Whether there was the slightest truth in Mile. Therese's 
statement is very doubtful. Whether Welstead really be- 
lieved it, or whether he simply accepted the story for peace 
and quietness, is open to question, but Mile. Gamier al- 
ways persisted in declaring that she was a young woman of 
a good, though poor family; that she had fallen in love 
with Algernon Welstead when his horse won the Grand 
Prix, and he was the hero of the hour in Paris a few months 
before his marriage; and that her passion had so overpow- 
ered her that she had sought the place of femme-de-cJiamb re 
to Mrs. Welstead only to be near him. A pretty and ro- 
mantic legend, but the Mile. Garniers of this world spin 
lies quicker than a spider its web, or faster than a lace- 
maker can weave her thread. 

“ Spare yourself the recapitulation of all the sacrifices 
you have made in my behalf. Be business-like, if you 
please. To do you justice, you usually are in money mat- 
ters,” rejoined Welstead. 

“ To pay bills one must have money. It does not re- 
quire much business knowledge for that,” rejoined made- 
moiselle, sharply. “ We must, I presume, live.” 

“ Yes, but there is no necessity that we live as expen- 
siyely as we are doing at present.” 

“ V a ! mon ami ! Write me this little check and have 
done with it. It will be time enough to live like paupers 


THE OUTSIDER. 


81 


when we find ourselves in the — what you call it? — the poor- 
house?^ 

Welstead paused for a moment, but his eye was quick to 
read signs of the weather in mademoiselle's countenance. 
He was in no mood to face one of her violent outbursts just 
then, and, moreover, that she must have money for the 
household expenses was of course imperative. Sullenly he 
wrote the check, and then, throwing it across to her, rose, 
saying: 

“ I shall not dine at home, so, for the present, good- 
bye. ” 

“ J 9 en suis desolee,” replied mademoiselle, with a slight 
shrug of her shoulders. “ I trust that monsieur will have 
a pleasant day,” and the Frenchwoman swept her lover a 
mocking courtesy. 

One word only escaped Algernon Welstead’s lips, and 
that bore a suspicious resemblance to the monosyllable 
“ Bosh!” as, without further parley, he left the room. 


CHAPTER X. 

“downfall of mazeppa.” 

Lounging on the benches outside the portals of the 
Theatine is Cis Maltby, in all the calm enjoyment of an 
after-breakfast cigar. That easy-going dragoon is in a state 
of great beatitude just now, for he has, by a little maneuv- 
ering, contrived to get away from Aldershot a week before 
the usual recess granted for the Derby, and is consequently 
in possession of a fortnight’s leave. He is suffering from 
the usual epidemic prevalent in the latter part of May, to 
wit, the Derby fever, which some dozen years or so ago 
used to rage so fiercely. Nowadays men languidly inquire 
whether you are “going down.” In the old times that 
question would have been deemed superfluous; of course 
you were; the question was, what were you backing. The 


82 


THE OUTSIDER. 


race seems to evoke little enthusiasm at, present, and it 
may be, as some of the pessimists aver, that the old histor- 
ical contest is on the wane. It may be that in these times, 
when sport seems, utterly subservient to luxury and “ the 
gate,” that the great three-year-old battle of the South 
may be transferred to Drury Lane and be run nightly 
through the season; however, in the days of which I am writ- 
ing, the Derby was still the race of the world, and its result 
looked anxiously for wherever “ the meteor flag” flew. 

Cis was congratulating himself on one or two things. 
First, that he had not elected to make a pilgrimage to Har- 
penden and to be grilled on its sandy common while look- 
ing on at most indifferent racing. A saunter through the 
park, with the chance of meeting Miss Harwood, he 
thought, upon the whole, would be a far pleasanter way of 
passing the morning than in listening to the roar of the 
book-makers on the once famous pugilistic tryst. The 
meeting, by the way, to this day retains a savor of the 
ropes and stakes, especially among the company, a por- 
tion of which have the aspect of being what “ Bell’s Life ” 
used to describe as old ,l ring-goers,” a section of human- 
ity better to meet “ on paper ” than in the flesh. Secondly, 
Cis, like a large section of the gentlemen, had backed Ma- 
zeppa for the Derby, and perhaps no horse had ever been 
backed for so much money for that race. The property of 
as straightforward a man as ever stepped, he had shown 
himself quite in the first flight during his two-year-old ca- 
reer, and had been backed by his owner and all his friends 
at good prices for the great Epsom event. 

This year he had not been seen in public, but all con- 
nected with him made no secret of it that he had done 
wonderfully well during the winter, and that they fully ex- 
pected him to beat all opposed to him on the Derby day. 
Cis had taken a good bet about him, in the shape of twenty 
to one, in hundreds, at the preceding Ascot. 

It was a year of good colts, and, although the winner of 


THE OUTSIDER. 


S3 


the “ Two Thousand ” held the pride of place, yet Mazep- 
pa was a strong favorite, and the book-makers were shy 
about laying five to one against him. 

Ois was far too old a turfite not to know how many a slip 
there is between cup and lip in a big race, to be unduly 
sanguine about Mazeppa^s triumph. Still, he did think 
that he should have a good run for his money, and stood a 
very reasonable chance of placing that two thousand pounds 
to his banking account on Monday week. It was with no 
little complacency he looked at his watch, and having con- 
cluded that it was about the right time for the park, threw 
away his cigar, and prepared to make a start for Hyde 
Park Corner. 

“ Bum go this, Maltby!” suddenly exclaimed a voice be- 
hind him. “ Hope it don*t affect you, but Mazeppa seems 
in Queer Street. I had it from a cabman who had just 
driven a fare to the railway for Ilarpenden Races. He said 
there were all sorts of rumors up there about the horse, 
that no one seemed to know exactly what was the matter, 
but they were offering ten to one against Mazeppa!” 

“ The deuce they were V 9 said Cis. “ Why, I saw his 
owner only last night, and he said the colt was fit as fiddles. ” 

“ Ah! yes,” rejoined Torkover; “ whatever the accident 
was, according to all accounts, it took place at exercise this 
morning.” 

“ Well,” said Cis, “ a very few hours will clear it all up. 
Mazeppa will either be at twenty-five to one before dinner, 
which will mean that his case is hopeless, or people who 
have acted under false information will be tumbling over 
one another to take their money back again at fives.” 

“ Quite so,” replied Mr. Torkover. “ I hope you 
haveiPt got any money on him yourself?” 

“ A few pounds,” replied Cis, indifferently, “ like half 
the fellows inside here,” and so saying, he strolled off in 
the direction of Hyde Park. 

He was much too old a hand to show it, but Cis was not 


84 


THE OUTSIDER. 


a little disgusted by Mr. Torkover’s news. Gossip though, 
lie was, and not always. to be relied on, as men continually 
retailing the tittle-tattle of the day seldom are, still Cis 
was aware that Torkover was no fabricator of events; what- 
ever he might tell you was founded on rumor, and Cis 
knew Avell that rumor detrimental to a favorite for the 
great race was seldom unfounded. In these telegraphic 
days a mischance on the training ground is speedily spread 
all over the country, if the victim of that accident has 
achieved any fame as a race-horse. It was a bore — a deuce 
of a bore — but it was like his confounded luck. As one of 
Jerrold’s characters in “ Bubbles of the Day ” is made to 
say, “ He never knew a man who did not want a thousand 
pounds,” still less, it may be argued, did he ever know a 
man who couldn’t do with two. Now Cis Maltby had, so 
far, had a bad year, and he fondly looked forward to the 
victory of Mazeppa to recoup himself. 

Various little castles in the air would be shattered in the 
dust should this report prove true, and he knew too well 
that it was just those last two or three strong gallops that 
discovered the weakness, if there was one, of a horse who 
had undergone a preparation for a big race. Well, hang 
the Derby! He’d trouble his head no more about it. If 
Mazejipa had broken down, the professionals had yet again 
got the better of the gentlemen, and the most heavily 
backed animal within living memory would never face the 
starter. What did it all matter? It was a lovely morning; 
and he had good reason to fancy that he should come across 
Miss Harwood in the course of the morning; one may be 
beat at racing and yet win at something else. 

The park was in all its glofy, the trees wore their fresh- 
est green, and the fair faces that strolled beneath them 
were arrayed in their freshest bonnets. The rhododendrons 
were a blaze of bloom, and the loungers on the rails were 
resplendent in gorgeous button-holes and varnished boots, 
those whom nobody knows outshining for the most part in 


THE OUTSIDER. 


85 


their raiment those whom everybody knows. Extreme 
dandyism of attire is rather indicative of uncertain pros- 
pects, while its converse is wont to mark the man who can 
draw at sight five figures on his bankers. Already the 
rumor that there is something wrong with Mazeppa is mur- 
mured amongst the chairs, while the very trees whisper it 
to his unfortunate backers, as the rushes long ago did that 
little peculiarity of King Midas. Ah, those old trees! what 
strange stories have been told beneath them! Many a story 
of sorrow or shame, many a love-tale, and the knell of 
many a Derby favorite, with its corollary of ruin and dis- 
grace, have they in their turn whispered to the breeze that 
kissed them. 

“ Don’t matter to you, Collington, you never bet,” re- 
marked Charley Wrey, as he lounged over the rails in com- 
pany with his chief crony, “ but this will hit some of our 
plunging brethren very hard. I heard them disputing at 
The Turf yesterday about what would actually start first 
favorite, and the best judges agreed that the covering money 
about Mazeppa would bring him to the top of the poll.” 

“ Well, that won’t affect you any more than me.” 

“ No, I always contribute my mite to our Isthmian 
Games just as I pay my income-tax. I invested it on Ma- 
zeppa this year — as with taxes, there won’t be much return 
for it. Ah, Cis, how are you?” he continued as Maltby 
joined them. 6i I suppose the authorities have turned you 
all loose from Aldershot to assist at the national festival. 
I’m blessed if I don’t believe that to be a deep-laid scheme 
on the part of the Government to make you soldiers con- 
tribute to keeping up a show they live in terror may re- 
quire a subsidy.” 

“ If you mean the army will leave its money on Epsom 
Downs,” replied Cis, “ I am afraid you’re right, if what I 
hear is true about Mazeppa. The soldiers are all sweet 
upon that horse. I suppose he’ll be knocked out at Har- 
penden. ” 


so 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ Most likely. Whom do you think I heard from yester- 
day, Cis? Hugh Musgrave. ” 

“ Ah, what is he doing? Where is he? Poor Hugh! 
what a mess he would have been in over Mazeppa. Oof- 
ton, the colt’s owner, is a great friend of his.” 

“ He writes from one of those places in Brittany where 
the vin du pays is about a franc a bottle, and proportion- 
ately unwholesome. He talks about going in for wild 
shooting there next autumn. ‘ As if ,’ he writes,” said 
Charley, producing the letter from his pocket, “ ‘ this place 
wasn’t depressing enough, who should turn up the other 
day but Mourning Allingham, who naturally gave a most 
melancholy account of you all. I couldn’t help asking to 
what we were indebted for his presence; he gave me one of 
the old cadaverous glances and said, “ I’m told it’s out of 
the way in case you’re wanted. Letters seldom find 
you.”’ ” 

Collington burst out laughing, and exclaimed: 

“ How like Allingham!” 

“ But I don’t understand,” said Cis. “ Who is the gen- 
tleman with the lugubrious appellation, and why does he 
want to be out of the way — Duns?” 

“ Not a bit of it; funerals! Didn’t you ever meet 
‘ Mourning ’ Allingham? No?” he continued in reply to 
Cis’s shake of the head. “ 1 wonder you haven’t come 
across the Allinghams. Festive and Mourning Allingham 
are as well known as any two men about town. ‘ Festive ’ 
is the elder brother, and, according to the latter, attends 
ail the weddings and festivities of the family, and receives 
all the legacies, while he, ‘ Mourning,’ attends all the fu- 
nerals and finds his own gloves and liat-bands. He is aw- 
fully funny about it, says Festive is always out of the way 
when any of their relations make an end of it, but that 
they would get a letter to him if he were in Timbuctoo. He 
affects half-mourning, and says he has no opportunity to 
wear colors. He, of course, takes the pessimist view of 


THE OUTSIDER. 


87 


life, and says the drollest things in the most lachrymose 
manner. His brother's commonplace enough, and is 
known chiefly through Mourning's eccentricities." 

44 Well, never mind all that," said Lord Collington. 
44 What does Musgrave say about himself? His having 
met Mourning Allingham, and meditating shooting in 
Brittany, is rather a meager account of his doings present 
and to come. Does he talk about coming back?" 

44 Yes," rejoined Wrey. 44 I'm sorry to say he does; 
says law business will oblige him to — " 

44 Go on; don't see what you've got to be sorry about, 
exactly," said Collington. 

44 Hum! he wants to know whether it is true that Mrs. 
Welstead is separated from her husband, and, between our- 
selves, an answer to that postscript is the sole reason of his 
letter." 

Lord Collington said nothing for a minute or two. 

44 Gad!" he muttered at last, 44 it's rather hard upon 
that little woman. She is fighting such a plucky battle, 
and winning it too, and now Hugh Musgrave's going to 
appear on the scene! When Hugh hears the whole story, 
he is not quite the man to put a curb on his own inclina- 
tions. The whole scandal will be revived ere it is well laid. " 

44 Yes," said Charley Wrey, gravely, 44 it must make Mrs. 
Welstead's game harder to play, unless Hugh displays what 
he never did yet— common prudence." 

Cis Maltby nodded to his friends and strolled on. 

He hadn't gone far before he espied the object of his 
search, and very handsome indeed Miss Harwood looked in 
her spring toilet. Julia stretched out her hand to wel- 
come Cis, and exclaimed : 

44 Ah! Captain Maltby, come to my assistance; they are 
all chaffing me dreadfully. I made Yal take me a ticket 
in the sweep at his club, and I drew Mazeppa. I have been 
spending that hundred pounds for the last forty-eight 
hours, and now they tell me that my horse is no good." 


88 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ I’m afraid it’s the case,, Miss Harwood/* said Cis, as 
he shook hands. 44 There is a report that lie has got the 
whooping-cough or measles, or some other of those com- 
plaints which horses always do get when you back them.” 

“ No, really; has anything happened to him?” 

“ Backed him myself, and I fancy the money’s all in the 
fire. Sorry for you. Miss Harwood, there’s nothing for you 
but to pay and look pleasant.” 

“ Look pleasant I can’t, and as for paying, Yal took 
very good care I should do that before he would put my 
name down, the mean thing!” 

“ Well, yours is rather hard luck,” rejoined Cis, laugh- 
ing. “ To draw a favorite in a sweep is so rarely vouch- 
safed us that it is cruel of Fortune not to continue the 
golden dream, for a few days, at all events. ” 

u Yes, and I had pictured such ravishing toilets to my- 
self for Ascot, if Mazeppa won. I wonder I didn’t break 
down and bemoan myself publicly. By the way, I’ve some 
news for you, Captain Maltby. I have made Mrs. Wel- 
stead’s acquaintance.” 

“ Indeed!” replied Cis, but the nonchalant dragoon 
looked more serious than he was wont. He was conscious 
that he was getting to care a good deal about Julia Har- 
wood; he had counseled her to keep clear of Mrs. Welstead, 
and now she rather triumphantly asserted that she had 
made her acquaintance. Cis was by no means puritanical 
in his ideas, but, like many other men, he was somewhat 
fastidious about those with whom the women he reverenced 
and honored consorted. 

Miss Harwood read his face aright, and saw the displeas- 
ure expressed in it. She fired up on her side; Captain 
Maltby had no right to dictate to her as to her acquaint- 
ance, and there was a ring of defiance in her tones as she 
continued: 

“ I Lke her very much, what I have seen of her. She’s 
a dear little woman. ” 


THE OUTSIDER. 


89 


“ No doubt,” rejoined Cis, dryly. “ As you know, I don't 
participate in your good fortune. I have never met her. ' ’ 

“ No, you are prejudiced against her, and think, because 
she can not live with a brute of a husband, she must be a 
bad woman.” 

“ The only opinion I ever hazarded about the lady,” re- 
joined Cis, stiffly, “ was that you had better not make her 
acquaintance. Now, of course, I have no more to say. ” 

Julia Harwood was very angry, but this was not the way 
she meant the discussion to terminate. She forgot, how- 
ever, that a tete-a-tete may end at the discretion of either 
speaker. 

“ You should not speak ill of a woman without sufficient 
reason,” retorted Julia; “ but I suppose you will.” 

“ Miss Harwood, let me again assure you that I have no 
more to say,” and, raising his hat, Cis walked on without 
waiting for further comment. 


CHAPTER XL 

“breaking away.” 

As the liail hounds off from the pent-house roof, 

As the cannon recoils as it feels the shot, 

As the finger and thumb 
Of an old woman come 
From the kettle she handles and finds too hot.” 

I am no salmon-fisher, but if you want to enjoy that 
sport upon, paper, read Bromley Davenport's book, and you 
will arrive at as near the agony of losing a forty-pounder as 
it is possible to do in theory. Now Cis Maltby was no 
forty-pounder, but he was a goodly fish for all that, and 
Miss Harwood's face when she saw her line break, and the 
victim she had counted her own sail tranquilly off into other 
waters, was a sight — good actresses as women always are 


THE OUTSIDER. 


00 


under such circumstances — difficult to conceive. She had 
never meant that! Had she told the story as it really oc- 
curred, Cis would have seen that she could hardly have 
escaped making Mrs. TVelstead’s acquaintance, but, with 
that insatiable spirit of coquetry that lurks in all women, 
she had thought fit to tease her captive. She had goaded 
him to madness, and cric! crac! a whirl of the winch, a 
tightening of the line, a sharp snap, and all is over! 

I wonder how many love stories end this way. It may 
be that many a bitter regret is cast back upon that shat- 
tered chain, once so nearly riveted. Well, she manages 
satisfactorily before many months are over, and her friends 
congratulate her and tell her how much better she has done 
than in linking herself for life to that scapegrace dragoon, 
to whose Arab-like wigwam she was so near betaking her- 
self. Yet, though the carriages, big footmen, and stately 
mansion, all lie at her call, she sometimes thinks sadly of 
that wild soldier who is battling fiercely on the north-west 
frontier, or chancing his life in pursuit of big game in 
South Africa. 

To say that Julia was indignant would scarcely express 
that young lady’s feelings. Had she been of the male sex, 
the objurgations that would have flowed from her lips 
would have made the very leaves about her head rustle in 
dismay; but, as a lady, she was debarred vent for her feel- 
ings in that way, and her wrath took the natural feminine 
outlet. There were men who had held that Miss Harwood 
was pleasant to talk to; but changed their minds upon that 
eventful morning. Some of her younger partners who 
came up smiling to do their devoir and murmur their usual 
commonplaces into her ears, retired discomfited, passed 
their hands meditatively over their countenances as they 
walked away, and, wondering whether their very noses were 
left to them, mentally erased Miss Harwood’s name' from 
their dancing programmes for the future. In short. Miss 
Harwood achieved, in the course of the next half hour, as 


THE OUTSIDER. 


91 


much unpopularity as would have settled most girls for the 
season, at least. -* 

As she walked home to luncheon Julia thought ruefully 
over her morning's work.^ She recognized, now that she 
had quarreled with him, what Cis Maltby was to her, and 
wished she had been less hasty. Her indignation has had 
time to cool, and she knows that there are occasions upon 
which her sex fail “ to lure the tassel-gentle back again/' 
and she shrewdly conjectures that easy-going as Cis out- 
wardly is, he can be very determined. She is right; once 
he has taken his line, Maltby keeps as straight to it as he 
does under like circumstances to hounds; odd, she thinks, 
both Val and her lover should be of the same mind with 
regard to Mrs. Welstead. Julia had been veritably fasci- 
nated by that lady, and said no more than she honestly 
thought when she pronounced her charming; but she left 
Cis to infer that she had sought Mrs. Welstead's acquaint- 
ance, in place of which it had come upon her in a way im- 
possible to decline, except in a most marked and accentuat- 
ed manner. 

Cis's day, too, had clouded over since he smoked that 
after-breakfast cigar on the steps of the Theatine. The 
tissue in the hall of that institution, as he re-entered it, in- 
formed him that Mazeppa was in very ill odor down at 
Iiarpenden, and was receding ominously in the Derby bet- 
ting. Then, that pleasant morning he had meant to spend 
lounging in the Eow had turned out so very much the re- 
verse. Pooh! it was nothing to him; but if she had made 
up her mind about it, what was the use of Miss Harwood's 
asking his advice as to making Mrs. Welstead's acquaint- 
ance? This was not quite the case; but, perhaps, as near 
it as you could expect a man with his bristles all rubbed 
the wrong way to go. Well, he had told Miss Harwood it 
was no business of his, nor was it. He would bother his 
head no more about her concerns. He wished now he had 
gone to Harpenden after all; he would have known the 


92 


THE OUTSIDER. 


truth about Mazeppa — as if the telegraph had not already 
made that pretty clear — and, besides, anything was bet- 
ter than fooling about in that beastly park. Well, man 
must lunch, and Cis snarled at the bill of fare and waxed 
sarcastic about the rule of the committee before he sat 
down to his meal. 

The sun may shine bright, the trees may be green and 
the flowers be glorious in their coloring, but if the one 
flower we would fain gather, like the pimpernel, folds its 
leaves, we accept the omen and deny the sunshine and 
freshness of the trees. To count upon a pleasant day is 
always rash. When one reflects that our contemplated 
pleasant day lies at the mercy of, perhaps, a score of peo- 
ple, one feels aghast at the fond credulity that induced one 
to reckon on it; but for a man in love it is sheer midsum- 
mer madness. It is not to be supposed that Cis was with- 
out his experiences, but then he had never been quite so 
much in earnest as he was now. He had growled over his 
cutlet, and was involved in an argument with the butler 
concerning a pint of champagne which he was casting 
aspersions upon and pronouncing unfit for a gentlemen's 
drinking, despite the assertions of that authority that there 
was no more popular brand in the club, when a slight, 
good-looking man of medium height lounged up to his table, 
and said, quietly: 

“ How are you, Cis?" 

Maltby started, as well he might. Here was the very 
man who, indirectly, was casting his shadow across his path 
— the man whose advent both Collington and Charley Wrey 
deemed so inimical to Thea's interest. 

“ Hugh Musgrave, by Jove!" exclaimed Cis, as he shook 
hands. “ I'm very glad to see you," and even as he 
spoke the thought would intrude itself — was he really glad 
to see him? It was absurd, an old friend, one whom he 
had always found “ true as Ripon rowels," to use the old 
Yorkshire proverb. Besides, what had he to allege against 


THE OUTSIDER. 


93 


Hugh Musgrave? And yet, at the same time, he had a 
presentiment that his coming meant trouble to himself. 
“ I heard you were on your way,” he continued, “ only 
this morning, but we didn't expect you so soon. Some 
law business, I understood Charley Wrey, who , was my in- 
formant — nothing unpleasant, I hope?" 

“ No, old man!" replied Musgrave; “ the lawyers can 
trouble me no more. There are degrees of pauperdom, you 
know, and in the cutting-up of a good estate they generally 
leave you a residue wherewith to prevent your becoming 
chargeable to your parish. I might have done better if I 
had made a clean lock, stock and barrel smash of it, but I 
couldn't part with the old place, Cis, though to save it 
makes me almost an alien. " 

“Nonsense!" replied Cis, “you'll ; come again,' never 
fear; they'll find coal or iron or something that's highly 
popular and saleable. It always comes to old families, you 
know," continued Cis, vaguely. “ They always keep that 
one corner of the property in which all the mineral wealth 
of the estate is hid away." 

“ Don't think the testimony of the old families would 
corroborate your assertion," replied Hugh, laughing. 
“I've hung on to the house, and the land just round it, 
but it will remain for the next Musgrave to make an in- 
come with which to live there. Now tell me all the news. 
Except from Allingham, I have heard nothing of the Lon- 
don world for near two years. I saw some racing news in 
the hall, which, I presume, touches a good many of you up 
a bit?" 

“ Yes, that's a pretty piece of news to mar a spring 
morning. As Charley Wrey says, there are always clouds 
about; if you don't have them in the heavens, you have 
'em in youi* heart. Some of us usually suffer this week, 
and we've burned our fingers pretty generally in this estab- 
lishment. Another good horse gone wrong, as they will 
about this time." 


94 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ Well, never mind all that. Fve cut racing, or, to put 
it more correctly, racing has cut me. What’s going on, 
and who are about?” 

“ Oh, everybody’s about; most of us wondering how 
long we shall be about. The old top is spinning in its 
usual humdrum fashion. Nobody has succumbed so far, 
this season, to centrifugal force and shot clean out of the 
orbit.” 

“ Pooh, man!” rejoined Musgrave, “you must have 
some gossip — some scandal! I can’t believe Babylon has 
so far degenerated as to have no stories afloat about its 
upper-class citizens. ” 

Now Cis understood pretty well what sort of gossip it 
was that his old chum wished to draw from him. He had 
his own ideas about the “ lawyer’s business,” and in this 
he did Musgrave injustice, as his solicitor had duly intimat- 
ed to Hugh that his presence was desirable in London as 
soon as he could manage it. But that the one person he 
most wished to see, that the one person he desired to hear 
all about, was Thea Welstead, Cis was perfectly justified in 
believing. Bitterly had Musgrave cursed his own mad folly 
when he found that he had lost the girl whom he was most, 
jiassionately in love with. He had nobody to blame but 
himself. He had run through a fair estate, and placed 
marriage, like many other luxuries, beyond his reach. He' 
had not spoken; he could hardly expect Thea to remain 
single for his sake, and yet the announcement of her mar- 
riage wrung Hugh Musgrave more bitterly than anything 
that had ever happened to him. Then came the brief 
space when he had met her again in London as Mrs. Wel- 
stead, one of the acknowledged beauties of the season, 
feted, made much of, and entertaining herself with princely 
magnificence. His admiration for her w'as unabated, and 
he could not resist the temptation of being at her side as 
often as possible; he kept sedulous watch over his tongue, 
but there is a more subtle language than speech, and. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


95 


glances are not altogether under control on these occasions. 
No word passed between them that, even had it been over- 
heard, the world could have caviled at, but I fancy they 
understood each other perfectly, and that the love tale of 
the old rectory garden in Dorsetshire was mutely retold in 
London. Then came the close of the season, and before 
the year was over Hugh had played for his last stake and 
lost, and fled into exile. Sick at heart, and above all sick 
of that world he left behind him, Musgrave's one care in 
his wanderings had been to keep clear of his compatriots; 
consequently his lines had been cast in places to which news 
of the London world rarely penetrated, and till his meeting 
with Allingham he had heard nothing of that select few 
thousand for nearly two years. 

“ I don't know what would be news to interest you," 
said Maltby after a longish pause. “ You've been away so 
long that we've probably forgot most of the canards you 
would have been amused with. I shall be telling you some 
old story which you know better than I do, or else talking' 
about people you never heard of. " 

“ One sees the papers at times in one's wanderings, 
Welstead, I noticed, had a good time at Newmarket." 

“ Which means as a rule that most other people had a 
bad," interposed Cis, curtly. “I came up from the 
Craven Meeting with a deuced knowing book-maker, who 
said he always stood Welstead 's outsiders and laid every 
shilling of his book against his favorites. No special in- 
formation, he said, simply ordinary observation of the usual 
hang of things." 

“ And he has separated from his wife?" remarked Mus- 
grave, slowly. 

“ Yes," rejoined Cis. 

“ Do you know why?" s&id Musgrave. 

“ That a woman did not get on with Algernon Welstead 
is not much to be wondered at, but I had not the honor of 
the lady's acquaintance myself, and do not pretend to know 


96 


THE OUTSIDER. 


anything about it. Charley Wrey could doubtless give you 
all particulars.” 

“ But you know what people say?” said Musgrave. 

“ Yes, and I know what lies people can tell. It is no 
use asking me, Hugh; I don't know anything for certain 
about the lady, and I'll have no hand in retailing any of 
the rumors connected with the separation of the Wel- 
steads.'' 

“ What can be your objection to telling me what the 
world says about it?” 

“ I might as well ask why you are so particularly curious 
-on the subject; but never mind that, I have my reasons, 
and decline to be mixed up in Mrs. Welstead's affairs for 
good or for evil. " 

“ What on earth can you mean, Cis,'' rejoined the 
other. “ Who is asking you to mix yourself up in Mrs. 
Welstead's affairs? I only asked you to tell me what is 
doubtless town talk, but if it is distasteful to you, why, of 
-course, there is an end of it.” 

Maltby's disinclination to discuss the Welsteads' affairs 
was naturally incomprehensible to Musgrave. Had he been 
present at that little scene in the park, and been aware, 
like most of their set, that Cis was seriously smitten with 
Julia Harwood, he would have understood it all. 

“ You mustn't mind me, Hugh," exclaimed Maltby, “ I 
am a little bothered about things this morning. A bore, 
dropping a cool hundred, to begin with, over Mazeppa, 
You'll come down and see the big race, won't you?” 

“ Thanks, no,” replied the other. “ I've done with all 
that. I've got no place to go to, and no money to wager 
with if I went." 

‘‘ But you were fond of a good race for its own sake. 
I've known you revel in one wlien you had not a penny on 
it. I've got a box with General Lovett, and I can promise 
you a seat in that.” 

“ I think not,” replied Musgrave, rising; “it is best to 


4 


THE OUTSIDER. 


97 


keep away from temptation. I should only lose a tenner, 
and Pll tell you what, old man, I have to look after them 
now. '' 

“ Yes,” rejoined Cis, laughing, “ it is that anxious look- 
ing after them produces their scarcity. I was looking after 
them, ah! ever so much, when I backed Mazeppa last sea- 
son, and there's a sair lot of them will leave me on Monday 
week. But I shall see you often between this and Wednes- 
day, and remember you must come. It will be quite like 
old times to have you by my side when the flag falls for the 
Derby." 

But Musgrave only shook his head, and with a laughing 
tempter, avaunt!" strolled out of the coffee-room. 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ MRS. PETERSHAM'S BALL. 

We all know how the germs of a party grow. We all 
know how “ a few friends to dinner " rapidly expands into 
a party of some half a dozen more than the room can com- 
fortably accommodate. 

An entertainment in London enlarges like the snowball, 
unless the giver of the feast be sternly determined, capable 
of blunt refusal, and proof against both flattery and 
cajolery. Let but the whisper get abroad that there is a 
difficulty about getting cards for it, and all London, that is 
to say the very limited section of humanity which- considers 
it constitutes London, is wild -to be there. How many the 
house will hold is a thing the hostess has at length given up 
as an arithmetical problem, the solution of which would be 
simply idle. It has become on a par with that famous un- 
solved conjuring feat of getting the quart into the pint bot- 
tle. In like manner the hostess has undertaken to get five 
hundred people into a house barely calculated to hold two. 

Mrs. Petersham's dance was of this description; it had 


98 


THE OUTSIDER. 


been originally intended for what it professed to be, a 
dance, but it had gathered in numbers, till now even the 
good lady herself was fain to call it a ball. People who 
were merely slight acquaintances not only asked for tickets, 
but boldly prayed for leave to bring their friends. For 
downright effrontery in this respect, London can give les- 
sons to the universe. There was a rumor that some of the 
royalties would be present, and though, in these days, there 
may exist doubts about 4 4 the divinity that doth hedge a 
king, ” there can be none about the snobbism that mobs 
him. Much heart-burning is wont to be the result of these 
festivities: what a small percentage come away, and can 
say honestly they have spent a delightful evening! The 
majority may be divided into two classes — the bored and 
disappointed. Most of our characters are destined to fig- 
ure at this ball. None of them would willingly have been 
absent from it, and most of them had good reason for 
wishing to be there, and yet it is doubtful when all is over 
whether they will have profited much by the events of the 
evening. 

If Musgrave could not get at what he wanted to know 
from Maltby, it is not to be supposed that he found much 
difficulty about picking up the facts elsewhere. He very 
soon learned the story of Thea’s separation from her hus- 
band; learned moreover how, with reckless disregard of all 
public opinion, Algernon Welstead had installed his wife’s 
maid in her mistress’s place; how that Thea had been lost 
sight of for two years, and had only reappeared in London 
this season; how though half of the world took Mrs. Wel- 
stead’ s part, yet there was a considerable section, at the 
head of whom was Lady Dullingham, who had decided she 
was not to be known. 

“ And upon what grounds did they arrive at that sapient 
conclusion?” inquired Musgrave with a sneer. 

“ Well, none of us, who are best qualified to judge, have 
ever placed the slightest credence in the report; you’ve been 


THE OUTSIDER. 


99 


living out of the world, and I don't suppose it lias ever 
reached you, but you and Mrs. Welstead disappeared about 
the same time, and rumor was good enough to connect your 
movements." 

A fierce malediction burst from Musgrave's lips, and for 
a few seconds he remained silent. “Well," he said, at 
length, “ London can lie, I know, none better, but that 
such a baseless fable as that should ever have been believed 
in is astounding." 

“Not altogether," replied WYey. “When a lady 
separates from her husband, of course the first question 
asked by her friends is, £ Why?' The two people accused 
are out of the way, know nothing about the charge, and so 
can't deny it. Welstead, the one man bound to defend his 
wife's fair fame, has never troubled himself to do so. 
What would you have? An uncontradicted scandal speed- 
ily becomes a fact, and did any one ever go through one 
London season without making enemies? Even your 
friends are a little given to believe stories to your disad- 
vantage, and then, my dear Hugh, I don't want to touch 
upon a delicate subject, but you know you made pretty 
strong running with Mrs. Welstead just before your mutual 
troubles began." 

“The idiots!" rejoined Musgrave, “ as if a man can't 
be attentive to an old friend. " 

“ Too attentive, you mean," interrupted Wrey. “ Now, 
Hugh, I give you one bit of advice, and then we'll drop 
the subject. You leave Mrs. Welstead alone during your 
stay in England. " 

“ What the deuce do you mean?" 

“ Oh, you know very well what I mean. She is a plucky 
little woman, and is holding her own gallantly. How long- 
are you going to stay amongst us?" 

“ About a month I should think, if the funds hold out, 
but I have to look after ways and means. I'm not very 
good at economy yet, Charley, but I do know this much. 


100 


THE OUTSIDER. 


that a month's profusion in Brittany costs less than a 
week's economy in London. Why/' continued Hugh,, 
laughing, “ I could live upon my hat and gloves in those 
out-of-the-way parts, I mean upon the money such super- 
fluities cost one weekly/' 

“ Well/' said Charlie, we must try and make it pleas- 
ant for you while you are here. This coming week, you 
see, is the great Epsom carnival, and till we get that off 
our minds — we have got it off our pockets, by the way — 
there will be no settling down to any rational diversion. 
However, there is plenty of fun going on all through June,, 
and you will have to book yourself for a couple of dinners 
with me to start with. I will manage to get a few of our 
old chums to meet you. Shall you go down next Wednes- 
day? because if you do I'll undertake to find you a lunch."* 

“ N o, charmed to dine with you, Charley. But I've had 
too much of Epsoms, Ascots, etc., thank you," and so say- 
ing, Musgrave nodded to his friend and strolled away, leav- 
ing Charley to meditate under the trees of Bot.ten Row on 
the desolation of all racing when Fortune frowns upon you. 

Hugh Musgrave had made up his mind about one thing, 
that he would see Thea Welstead before he went back to 
Brittany. He looked back upon the past, and, though lie 
blamed himself for the infatuation which had led him to 
well-nigh dissipate his inheritance, yet, even that was but 
the making moan over the penalties he was paying for the 
past. But he was roused to righteous anger at the treat- 
ment Thea had received, and he was powerless to resent it.. 
He, who should have been her protector, had thrown away 
the golden opportunity, and now she was at the mercy of 
this brute, who was utterly unappreciative of the prize he 
had won. Yes, he would see her; though if any one had 
asked Hugh what he thought could come of that interview,, 
he would have been much puzzled to explain. Separated 
from her husband, looked down upon by such women as 
Lady Hullingham, he would take her away from all this. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


101 


and yet he knew this was not the way to help the woman 
he loved. She was blameless hitherto; would such a mad 
course as that which shot wildly through his brain tend to 
anything but her degradation, even though he could induce 
her to take it? No possibility of asking her to be his wife 
now, and what had he to offer her in return for a ruined 
name? Still, he stuck to it, he must see. her, he was reso- 
lute on that point; he could not return to his weary exile 
without having for a last time gazed into her face, and 
clasped her hand. He knew that, for her sake, this meet- 
ing was the one thing he had best avoid. It could lead to 
no good; it might lead Heaven knows where! They had, 
parted lovers — none the less lovers because the avowal had 
been a tacit one — still, like most men in his situation, 
Hugh Musgrave was too selfish to forego this gratification. 
Was it likely that the man who could not forego this first 
interview would be able to resist a second, or, it may be, a 
third? I fanc} r most women would have liked Hugh all 
the better for thus yielding to temptation, but people whose 
feelings are interested are seldom remarkable for prudence 
in these matters. 

Thea might take a high hand, but in her heart of hearts 
she knew she had not been altogether guiltless with regard 
to Hugh. True, she had never met nor ever heard from 
him since her first London season; but the flirtation be- 
tween them had been very pronounced then, and Thea 
hardly liked to admit to herself how often she had thought 
of him since that time. She took not the slightest interest 
in her husband* s doings, and it was only, indeed, when 
some scandal turned up in connection with his name that 
she even heard of him. So far she had devoted herself un- 
tiringly to recovering her former position in the London 
world, and could look back upon the first half of the cam- 
paign with feelings of considerable satisfaction. So far, 
she was in complete ignorance of Musgrave *s reappearance 
in London. These things are rapidly noised abroad, and 


102 


THE OUTSIDER. 


there were plenty of Tliea's friends already cognizant of it; 
but it so happened that she did not come across them. 
One in particular most undoubtedly would have told her 
had they met. Good-natured Mrs. Petersham , indeed, was 
most indefatigably circulating the news. Hugh was a great 
favorite of hers, and she had no sooner heard of his arrival 
than she forwarded him a card for her ball, and told every- 
body she met that that dear delightful Mr. Musgrave, who 
got into such dreadful trouble over that horrid race at 
Newmarket two years ago, was back. 

Mrs. Petersham's ball was on the Monday night preced- 
ing the Derby. Such a block of carriages had seldom been 
seen even in Grosvenor Square. The crowd up the stair- 
case was almost impassable, and it was rumored next day 
that there were people who never got further than the 
porch. What a babel of sounds it was. Snatches of rac- 
ing slang mingled with all the argot of the London season. 

Were you at the duchess's on Thursday? Where do 
you stay for Ascot?" 

“ Awfully jolly party. Just eight of us; but it's hardly 
warm enough for Greenwich." 

“ No, he's not struck out yet; but, of course, his case is 
hopeless." 

cc Freebooter is first favorite. He was strong as brandy 
in the market this afternoon. " 

“They'll divide to-night. Government say they'll win 
easy. " ; • 

“ So'll Cockatoo — better worth backing than the Gov- 
ernment, Charley." 

“ All off, I assure you. Shameful fraud. Lives as if he 
had ten thousand a year, and says he can't settle ten thou- 
sand on his daughter." 

Slowly Thea made her way up the crowded staircase, and 
as she gained the top she had the misfortune to put her 
foot upon a lady’s train in front of her. There was no 


THE OUTSIDER. 


103 


damage done, but Thea, distressed by fear of the conse- 
quences, exclaimed: 

u Allow me to apologize for my awkwardness. I trust I 
have occasioned you no inconvenience?” 

Lady Dullingham, for it was she, turned round, and, 
upon seeing who the speaker was, regarded her for a mo- 
ment with an insolent stare, and then, with a slight bend, 
said: 

“ Madame, you have the advantage of me.” 

A wicked smile flashed across Tliea’s face as she saw who 
her antagonist was; but she replied, sweetly, and with her 
lowest reverence: 

“ Yes, by some years.” 

“ I thought you knew Mrs. Welstead?” remarked Char- 
ley Wrey, who had witnessed the beginning of the fray with 
the greatest amusement. 

“ It is necessary, Mr. Wrey, to revise one’s visiting-list 
at times.” 

Although Tliea moved forward a step or two she was 
still within ear-shot. 

“ There’s a hint for us all. Lord Collington,” she re- 
plied, turning to the peer, who was next her. “ The re- 
moval of the women prettier than ourselves, and all the 
men who have the bad taste to think them so, reduces the 
circle of one’s acquaintance amazingly.” 

And then, taking advantage of an opening, Mrs. Wel- 
stead passed on out of hearing of some spiteful remarks on 
Lady Dullingham ’s part, to the effect that poor Mrs. 
Pjetersham’s mobs were getting too indiscriminate for any- 
thing, that she should really think twice # bef ore venturing 
among such an omnium gatherum in future; and as this 
remark might apply to everybody within hearing, as well 
as the culprit for whom it was intended, it was not much 
calculated to enlist sympathy in her ladyship’s behalf. 

Tliea was looking very lovely that evening. Her eyes 
sparkled and her face was slightly flushed at the passage of 


104 


THE OUTSIDER. 


arms with her quondam friend. One can hardly say 44 they 
had been friends in youth,” and if 44 whispering tongues 
will poison truth,” Lady Dullingham ’s own tongue had 
contributed no little toward it. A phlegmatic, sullen 
woman this, jealous of any new rival near her throne, and 
the great friendship she had manifested for Thea in her 
first season had been quite one of expediency; she had 
thought it better to be upon terms of intimacy with the ris- 
ing sun; but no sooner was its luster dimmed, no sooner 
did the signs of an eclipse become manifest, than Lady 
Dullingham changed her tactics. No one was more deter- 
mined that that eclipse should be made total than her lady- 
ship. She was full of indignation at having overestimated 
her power in this respect, and also now a little apprehen- 
sive that Thea might prove a dangerous antagonist. She 
was surprised to find how society had taken her up again. 
And nobody knew better than she what a formidable enemy 
Mrs. Welstead might prove to cross swords with. 

Suddenly, Lady Dullingham caught sight of a face that 
sent a thrill of malicious triumph through her veins. She 
had not known it till this minute, but here was the hero of 
that barely scotched scandal alive in the flesh, and ascend- 
ing the stairs. 44 Hugh Musgrave in London,” muttered 
Lady Dullingham; 44 you must be more prudent than of 
yore, my dear Thea, if you would not set tongues wagging 
again. Temporary seclusions which no one can account 
for, and your old lover dangling at your side the moment 
you reappear, are facts strong enough to throw a slur upon 
any woman’s fair fame. The world doesn’t know, as I do, 
my lady, that you were calf-mooning about with him dowu 
in Dorsetshire before you married. The season is not over 
yet, and before its close I think it is possible you may wish 
you had never come to London. Ah! Mr. Musgrave!” she 
exclaimed, 44 delighted to see you once more amongst us. 
We thought you had deserted us for the foreigners; now 
we have caught you, we shall trust to the old attraction to 


THE OUTSIDER. 


105 


keep you! She is here to-night, and looking more brilliant 
than ever. You will have to fight your way through quite 
a crowd of admirers to get even a word with her. ” 

“ I don’t understand you. Lady Dullingham!” exclaimed 
Hugh; but he was a bad dissembler. He was anxious to 
see Thea, and the veriest tyro could have perceived how ill 
at ease he was under her ladyship’s raillery. 

“ No, I don’t suppose you do,” rejoined Lady Dulling- 
ham, laughing. “ There’s no trusting any of you. I’ve 
no doubt you’ve had half a dozen flames since you left 
England; but there, don’t look so unhappy, you’ll find 
Mrs. Welstead in the next room.” 

Thea was standing at the further side of the saloon 
which opened on to the ball-room. She was surrounded 
by a group of' friends and admirers, among whom were 
numbered Miss Harwood, Charley Wrey, and Lord Colling- 
ton; they were laughing over Thea’s skirmish with Lady 
Dullingham. 

“ Rather hard hitting, Mrs. Welstead,” said Lord Col- 
ling ton, laughing, “ a little beyond the rules of the tour- 
ney, don’t you think?” 

“ I was rude, shamefully rude,” replied Thea, defiantly; 
“but I meant to be. Lady Dullingham is the rudest 
woman in London. There are soihe people who under- 
stand nothing but a bludgeon, just *as there are some 
animals which to punish with a toy whip is waste of time. ” 

“ It was rather hitting below the belt,” remarked Char- 
ley Wrey. “ But when old friends of your sex fall out the 
battle is apt to be fought with some disregard of the rules 
of the ring. ” 

“ When a woman gives such provocation as Lady Dull- 
ingham has done, she puts herself outside the ordinary 
rules of courtesy!” cried Julia, who not only honestly did 
like Mrs. Welstead, but had become one of her most en- 
thusiastic supporters out of sheer opposition. 

“ Bravo, car a mi a /” And Thea smiled in acknowledg- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


106 

ment of her new partisan's devotion. 44 In a war with no 
quarter the amenities are dispensed with. It is war to — ' ' 

At this moment both Wrey and Julia Harwood noticed 
that Mrs. Welstead started, and the sentence died away 
unfinished on her lips. Another second, and, though she 
had turned very pale, she had recovered herself, and I 
doubt if the keenest observer could have detected any un- 
steadiness in her tones as, extending her hand, she ex- 
claimed: 

44 How d'ye do, Mr. Musgrave? When did you return 
to England, and where have your wanderings led you?" 

It was rather a trying interview, and, as usual, it was the 
woman who showed the most self-possession on the occa- 
sion. Although he knew he was about to meet Mrs. Wel- 
stead, Hugh was much more disconcerted than the lady, 
all unprepared as she was. Practiced man of the world 
though he was, he could not quite control himself, and his 
voice shook slightly as he returned Thea's greeting. It was 
very slightly, but still it was perceptible to the ears of 
three people in that little group. Absurd, you will say, 
that a London man could have betrayed such weakness, but 
it must be borne in mind that Hugh had been living lately 
in the wilds of Brittany, where, perhaps, suppression of 
emotions is not habitually practiced. 

Their greeting was" brief, and, naturally, a little con- 
strained. They were both aware that scandal had coupled 
their names, and of that wild rumor that had been circu- 
lated concerning them. Even now Thea was aware that 
Lady Dullingham was watching them with a look of mis- 
chievous exultation. Julia Harwood also was ill at ease. 
She had noted the quiver in Hugh's voice, and interpreted 
it at once, as any woman would. She saw now the fires 
beneath the crust of the crater, and understood that, 
though the eruption had not taken place, it was not yet 
certain that all danger was over. She understood now why 
Cis Maltby was so averse to her making Mrs. Welstead's 


THE OUTSIDER. 


107 


acquaintance, and, to add to her embarrassment, she was con- 
scious that that dragoon was contemplating her proceedings 
with looks of unmistakable displeasure, and she had looked 
forward to this ball to effect a thorough reconciliation with 
him! 

“ Of course, he has done the very thing he ought not,” 
muttered Wrey. “ They are all alike. Give them good 
advice, and they never take it. I believe it should be 
wrapped up in fable, as the powders of our childhood were 
in jam, so as to be taken unconsciously,” and hereupon 
Charley threw himself into the breach and told one of those 
long and unconnected stories for which he was remarkable, 
which, upon reflection, appeared rambling and pointless, 
but at which everybody at the time laughed consumedly; 
on repetition by any one else they were usually discovered 
to be dull and tedious, and excited no laughter whatever. 
At the conclusion of Wrey’s story the group broke up, and, 
as she moved away, Julia ventured to steal another glance 
at where Cis had stood in his sullen anger, but he was no 
longer to be seen. 


CHAPTER Xni. 

U THE MORNING AFTER.” 

The great Epson} carnival has commenced. That 
mighty army of the proletariat , unwashed, unscrupulous, 
and whose creed is summed up in the brief sentence, Si that 
they must get a living somehow,” avail themselves of the 
opportunity that living has to be come by; whether hon- 
estly or no, it will be pretty much as circumstances dictate. 
Camped on the Downs already are the motley crews of 
gypsies, tramps, Jews, card-sharpers, cadgers, street min- 
strels, and all that swarm of the East End who cling to the 
tradition of doing a good stroke of business, and having a 
glorious holiday, during the Epsom week. For the most 


108 


THE OUTSIDER. 


part, poor wretches, they work hard for no very remunera- 
tive wage, and the nights on the Downs are sometimes both 
cold and wet. True, to the unscrupulous they offer vast 
opportunities; holiday makers will wear gold watches and 
scarf pins of value, and the Derby week is always consid- 
ered justification for that one more bottle of champagne, 
which makes man more hilarious than prudent. Dp by 
daybreak, they cower by their fires, and wait for those two 
great gifts of nature, sunshine and their prey. I forget 
who it was, but he was a man of deep reflection, who said 
that there was “ a fool born every minute,” and I am in- 
clined to believe that most fools in this country gravitate 
naturally to Epsom. I am not talking of those who lose 
their money by the legitimate — or illegitimate means, which 
you will— of betting on the races, but of that numberless 
body who are every year eased of their spare cash by the 
stalest of devices, such as the three-card trick, the purse 
trick, the ring trick, and various other Old World ^naneu- 
vers which never fail to attract the attention of the unwary. 

The first day of the big race week of the year has begun, 
and the first cohort of racing men has poured down to 
Epsom to see the Woodcote run, and pick up what might 
be the latest betting on the Derby. It was a great betting 
race that year; not only were there a great many horses 
who had shown unquestionable merit as two-year-olds, and 
were now again strongly fancied by the followers of their 
respective stables, but the book-makers had further had a 
good time in this wise: two or three prominent favorites, 
like Mazeppa, had come to grief in their training, and had 
been relegated to a price so hopeless in the betting market 
that their starting seemed improbable, although they had 
not as yet been absolutely struck out. Cis Maltby forms 
one of this enterprising brigade who have traveled down to 
study the market fluctuations of the great race of the mor- 
row. A successful plunge on the Woodcote should have 
raised Cis’s spirits, but an inquiry about Mazeppa results 


THE OUTSIDER. 


109 


in a prompt offer of a thousand to twenty, and further, to 
Interrogation, on its being declined, as to what he would 
take. Captain Maltby, in short, was in no cue for racing, 
and General Lovett, who was his companion, was quite 
puzzled to make out what had come to him. It could not 
be that hundred on Mazeppa; his old aid was a good loser, 
and not at all given to whimper when luck ran against 
.him. 

The general had not attended Mrs. Petersham 's ball the 
preceding night; the veteran's day had gone by for such 
things, and he made no secret to his friends that the club 
card-table had more attractions for him after dinner than 
any other form of entertainment. As for Cis, he couUJ, not 
get last night's revel out of his head. He had gone there 
with, perhaps, almost as much intention of making it up 
as Julia, but he saw that young lady had thrown herself 
quite into Mrs. Welstead's arms, and this utter disregard 
of his- wishes he very naturally resented. 

“ If she cares so little about me as to take up with the 
only acquaintance I ever suggested she shouldn't make, 
the sooner we part company the better." 

At the station, on their way back, the general and Cis 
xan across Mr. Sparrow. Although they had been racing 
they had not encountered the book-maker since they had 
traveled up with him from Newmarket, at the end of the 
Craven week. 

4 'Hope you've begun the week well, gentlemen. 
There'll be a lot of money change hands to-morrow; it's 
.a rare betting race, and the old hands tell me they never 
remember a Derby upon which so much money was staked. 
It's a year of good 'uns, you see. There's half a dozen 
favorites all backed for pounds, shillings, and pence, to say 
nothing of the usual crop of outsiders, which are just 
meant for young gentlemen to back, who like to amuse 
themselves by a vision of standing to win a pile with hardly 
any risk. Give me. a turn, gentlemen, in my little way. 


110 


THE OUTSIDER. 


I've only a five hundred pound book, but I should like to 
write your names down for the big race if I can. ” 

“ What! you take me for one of those young gentle- 
men:” exclaimed the general, chuckling; 

“ No, sir, ” replied Mr. Sparrow, smiling. “ You and 
Captain Maltby have been at the game too long to throw 
much money away in that fashion.” 

“ My money is as good as gone/’ said Cis. “ I shall 
lose a hundred over Mazeppa, and shall wait till to-morrow 
before backing anything else.” 

Here the departure of the train precluded further con- 
versation, and as Mr. Sparrow was staying down at Epsom, 
they had not the benefit of his vivacious conversation on 
their way back to London. 

“ Don't suppose we shall do any good, Maltby, whatever 
we may back to-morrow,” said the general, as they sepa- 
rated to dress for dinner. “ It promises to be a rare good 
race, and, if I like him when I see him, I think I shall 
trust Cockatoo with a trifle.” 

“ The morning after ” is a theme on which it is very 
easy to moralize. I am not talking of those mornings when 
the wine-cup has been circulated with too generous a hand 
on the preceding evening, but of the day which succeeds 
some entertainment or festival on which our hearts have 
been set for some time, and at which we had looked for- 
ward to most thoroughly enjoying ourselves — this was just 
the case with Julia Harwood. She had long looked for- 
ward to Mrs. Petersham's ball as the dance of her season. 
She had a hope, too, that it would be something more, and 
even to be marked with red letters in her calendar. Cis 
Maltby's attentions had been so pointed lately that she had 
good reason for expecting him to ask her to be his wife at 
any time. She had thought in the first place that Mrs. 
Petersham's dance would afford him every opportunity of 
speaking. Then came their quarrel, and she had thought 
there would be a chance of their making it up on that 


THE OUTSIDER. 


Ill 


■evening. He had never even spoken to her the whole 
night. In fact, she had never seen him since the break- 
ing-up of the group that had gathered round Mrs. Wel- 
stead. It had been a most disappointing fete to her, and 
though she was by no means a young woman to rail against 
fortune or give herself up to despair because things had not 
run quite as she wished them, still she did think the Fates 
had been a little hard to her on this occasion. It was ab- 
surd of Cis to be so touchy, and then again was there ever 
such a piece of bad luck as Mr. Musgrave turning up, 
when it would have been so much better for everybody that 
he should have remained in Brittany? Her brother, too, 
was not quite the man to make things easy for her, and she 
most heartily hoped that he had finished his breakfast and 
gone off on his own devices as she ran down-stairs. No 
such luck. Val raised his head from the paper as she en- 
tered the room. 

“ Good-morn mg,” he said. “ You have made Mrs. 
Welstead's acquaintance, and struck up a friendship with 
her apparently, just as the row is about to begin. " 

“ I don't understand you," she replied. “ I like Mrs. 
Welstead, and I shall not give her up because people say 
ill-natured things of her." 

“ You were at Mrs. Petersham's last night, and know 
what all the world knows this morning. Hugh Musgrave 
is back in London. He danced with her last night. If 
she carries on that flirtation, and sails as close to the wind 
as she did last time, it will go hard with her." 

“ I presume a married woman may dance two or three 
times without forfeiting her position?" rejoined Julia, 
sarcastically. 

“ Don't talk nonsense," replied her brother, sharply. 
“ You know very well what I mean. She carried on des- 
perately with Hugh Musgrave last time; but as long as 
Mr. Welstead didn't object it was nobody else’ s business. 
Now things are different. If she resumes that flirtation 


112 


THE OUTSIDER. 


she will find it is everybody's business. It will do you no 
good to be mixed up in such an imbroglio. If you're a 
prudent young woman you had better back out of your 
new-born friendship discreetly." 

“ Then I hope I never may be a prudent young woman/' 
flashed out Julia, defiantly. “ If it be prudent to abandon 
your friends the minute they are assailed, then I trust I 
may never be counted so. I am ashamed of you, Val. I 
never thought to receive such advice from your lips. We 
Harwoods have always had the credit of standing stanchly 
by our friends." 

“ Go your own way, then," retorted Val, with a shrug 
of his shoulders as he rose, 4 ‘ only don't whimper when 
you hear yourself spoken of as ‘ always about with that 
dreadful Mrs. Welstead,' " with which Parthian shot he 
left the room and his sister to her own reflections. 

Tliea, too, that morning sipped her tea with the grew- 
some misgiving that she had been rashly, stupidly impru- 
dent the night before. What madness had induced Hugh 
Musgrave to come to that ball? And she — well, she knew she 
had flirted with him desperately, the thing of all others she 
should have been careful not to do. Not only was she 
compromising her scarce regained position in London, but, 
worse than that, Thea knew it was playing with fire to en- 
gage in anything of that kind with Hugh. Her feelings 
were involved. She could not answer for herself. She 
knew not how far her passion might carry her. And when 
a woman, placed as she was, sees all this, she must know 
that if she does not put an end to such folly it will speedily 
put an end to her, that is, as far as her reception in society 
goes. 

“ Why did she do it?" muttered Thea, between her 
clinched teeth. “ She drove me to it. Hid she think I 
was to be daunted by her mocking glances, which seemed 
to say, ‘ Here is your old lover come back, Mrs. Welstead, 
but I dare you to take any notice of him now!' Hare iliel 


THE OUTSIDER. 


113 


She doesn’t know Thea Welstead. I flirted recklessly with 
him, yes, shamelessly. Even Hugh himself looked aston- 
ished. I gave him more encouragement than I ever did 
even before scandal had coupled our names, and still that 
woman’s mocking glance pursued me. And well it might. 
Fool that I was! I see now that I was only playing her 
game. How she will delight in driving about London to- 
day, and giving her account of Mrs. Petersham’s ball.” 

And then Thea sat down and bethought herself as to how 
she had best extricate herself from this scrape into which 
her imprudence had led her. It was quite evident that Hugh 
Musgrave wanted but little encouragement to assume his 
old relations to her, and she knew very well that she had 
given him more than that little encouragement last night, 
and, what was more, that other people knew it too. She 
must break with him once and for all. She would see him 
once more, and then they should be no more than distant 
acquaintance. 

“ She is a clever woman. Coll, but she has lost her head, 
and when they do that there is no saying what will come 
of it. I told Hugh,” continued Charley Wrey, “ that he 
was more calculated to adorn Brittany than London just 
now; but, of course, he didn’t see it. He was just as ob- 
stinate as that remarkable pig of which you told us the 
other night. Well, general,” he continued, as that veteran 
made his appearance in the smoking-room for a few min- 
utes previous to his adjournment to the card-table, “ you 
seem to have had a pretty good day’s sport at Epsom. 
Nothing new about the Derby, I suppose?” 

“ Nothing. It’s a pretty fairly open race as far as the 
first four or five favorites go, I fancy. I saw Crof ton there 
to-day, but he told me he did not think he should start 
Mazeppa. At all events, he looks upon his chance as 
hopeless, said he had never backed a horse for so much 
money, and that not a shilling of it was hedged. ” 

“ It’s a comfort to think we’re poor and can’t bet. It’s 


THE OITTSIDER. 


114 

:i great thing to get ruined early in life, and have all these 
anxieties off your mind.” 

As before said, Mr. Wrey, although, no doubt, he had 
burned his fingers a little on the turf, had pulled up a long- 
way short of ruin; but it was his wont always to speak of 
himself as having come to poverty. 

“ Yes,” continued Charley, reverting to the original sub- 
ject of discussion that General Lovett's appearance had 
interrupted, 64 Mrs. Welstead lost her head, or rather her 
temper, which conies to exactly the same thing, and how 
well Lady Dullingham did play her cards! The whole 
game was transparent as possible. Let Mrs. Welstead go 
where she would, there was her ladyship watching her with 
an amused smile on her lips, and that mocking look in her 
eyes. She carried her point though, she maddened her 
enemy. And Mrs. Welstead out-Heroded Herod. She 
made society stare with the way she carried on with Hugh 
Musgrave, and trust Lady Dullingham for making society 
talk.” 

“Yes,” said Lord Collington; “'trouble will come to 
her if that goes on. She knows all the risks she runs bet- 
ter than any one. Her friends can only look on, now, and 
wonder how the affair will finish.” 

I doubt if any of those who made merry at Mrs. Peter- 
sham's ball were as well satisfied with the results of the 
evening as Lady Dullingham. Impotent wrath was raging 
in her breast when Musgrave appeared, and from that mo- 
ment she felt that the enemy was delivered into her hands. 
She saw how galling her insolent espionage was to Thea, 
and it was not likely that she would relax it on that ac- 
count. She viewed poor Thea's reckless flirtation with in- 
tense satisfaction, and she took very good care that some 
of her friends should view it too. 

“My dear Mrs. Baltry,” she said, “if we ever are 
to draw the line, I think it must be at Mrs. Welstead. 
She has managed, by sheer effrontery, to make people 


THE OUTSIDER. 


115 


ignore the singular coincidence of her disappearing at the 
same time as Mr. Musgrave; it was very easy-going of peo-* 
pie to forget that, but she can't suppose she can parade 
the liaison under our very noses with impunity." 

And as Mrs. Baltry called the attention of her friends to 
Mrs. Welstead's doings, poor Thea prosecuted her luckless 
flirtation before the eyes of a biased and virtuously indig- 
nant jury of British matrons. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

'’ THE BOOK-MAKER'S TIP." 

Whe]st Musgrave rose the morning after Mrs. Peter- 
sham's ball, a thrill of exultation ran through his veins. 
He was not forgotten. All through his two years of exile 
Thea had borne him in her heart. Never had she smiled 
more kindly on him than she had last night. Her soft 
tones seemed to thrill still through Iris ears, and he felt all 
the intoxication which results when strongly curbed pas- 
sion once masters us. He had said to himself that he only 
wanted to see her once more, that there could be no harm 
in that, he could trust himself to keep guard over his 
tongue. How about it all now? Words had passed his 
lips, ay, and had scarce been chidden, which could never 
be unsaid. He could not blame himself altogether. Thea 
had shown herself unfeignedly glad to see him, and no man 
under such provocation could have weighed his sentences:, 
or kept his utterances within conventional bounds. His 
long-suppressed passion had burst its bonds last night, and 
it would be a farce to suppose that he and Thea could meet 
as anything but lovers for the present. Well, it could not 
much matter, even if he did yield to the sweet delirium of 
his love for the present. Three weeks or so would see 
him back again in his dreary exile, and though censorious 
peojrie might waggle their heads about the intimacy be- 


116 


THE OUTSIDER. 


tween himself and that pretty Mrs. Welstead, no real 
harm could come of it. In the meantime Hugh resolved 
to make the most of what he called his brief snatch of civ- 
ilization. He would make the most of these three weeks, 
and enjoy himself thoroughly. It should be a case of 
“ make merry, to-morrow we die.” “Audi an^sure I 
might as well,” he growled, “ as go back to that dreary 
country in which my poverty now compels me to live.” 

Only three weeks more, and he must return to his hum- 
drum banishment. Well, he must make the best of it 
when he got back; but, in the meantime, he vowed to 
cram as much pleasure into those three weeks as was pos- 
sible, and seeing as much as he could compass of Thea 
formed a very prominent part of his programme. As he 
dressed, a thought struck him. Why shouldn't he accept 
Cis Maltby's offer, and go down to the Derby to-morrow? 
He loved a good race, everybody was sure to be there — 
one always met everybody one knew at Epsom. By Jove! 
he would, though how far he was assisted to this conclusion 
by a vague recollection that Mrs. Welstead had said some- 
thing about perhaps taking advantage of Lord Codington's 
offer, and going down on his drag, it is impossible to 
say. 

In pursuance of this resolve, Musgrave breakfasted at 
the Theatine, and kept a sharp lookout for Cis. He suc- 
ceeded in catching that dragoon just before he started on 
his pilgrimage for Epsom, in somewhat gloomy spirits, as 
we know. It could hardly be called Musgrave's fault, and 
yet that gentleman was unwittingly part of the cause of 
Maltby's worries. It was he that made Mrs. Welstead 
such an undesirable acquaintance for Julia, which had led 
to his quarrel with that young lady. But, whatever he 
might feel, Cis could hardly visit this on his old chum's 
head, and replied cheerily that the seat was still at his 
disposal, and that the general and himself would only be 
too happy to see him. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


117 

“ Do you good, Hugh/'’ he said; “ given anything like 
line weather, and the Derby is always good fun. You’ll 
hud lots of fellows to gossip and smoke with; it's bound 
to be a good race, though a precious bad one to bet on, 
that is for backers. I think myself I shall only look on 
to-morrow, I know it will be the wisest thing to do. ” 

“ Well/* rejDlied Musgrave laughing, “ Fm bound to 
be a looker-on. A stray fiver is as much as I can afford 
to speculate.” 

“All right, then/’ said Cis. “I’m off now; but we 
meet here to-morrow. Let’s go down a little early, as I 
like the lounge in the paddock as well as any part of the 
day.” 

Musgrave pledged himself to reasonable hours, and then 
Cis jumped into a hansom, and hied him to Victoria. 

It is recorded in the annals of crime how solicitous crim- 
inals about to die have been about their last dinner, and 
many another like Hugh Musgrave has made up his mind 
to drain the cup of pleasure to its very dregs, before the 
chalice is dashed from his lips forever. There is a mis- 
erable selfishness in all this; the man recks little of the 
misery he may cause to others. Later on, he may look 
back upon that wrecked past, and enforced abnegation of 
narrowed means, and the necessity of exertion may bring 
out the grit of his character. He may in those days learn 
to think more for others and less for himself; but in those 
last few days, when ruin stares him in the face, a man is 
often as reckless as one who dares his doom at daybreak. 
Despair, and a mad passion for the enjoyment of the 
moment, are masters of his mind; the present is every- 
thing, let the future take care of itself. 

And yet Hugh Musgrave had more fiber in his character 
than this; he had honestly refused help from his friends, 
when he knew himself broke past redemption. None of 
them should be losers by him; he would borrow no money 


ns 


THE OUTSIDER. 


of which the chance of repayment was, to put it mildly,, 
indefinite. No: he would abide by the folly his hands had 
wrought; the old acres must go, and lie must be content to 
live on such salvage as remained from the wreck. Had 
Thea only been true to herself, he had perhaps honestly 
striven to make that last interview all that he had vowed to 
himself it should be; but, now the barriers were broken, he 
was a mere feather on the fierce stream of passion, and 
Thea had nothing but her own firmness to trust to in the 
maelstrom into which she had suffered herself to glide. 
How was Musgrave to guess the insane influence that had 
swayed her conduct last night? It was not likely a man, 
and a man blinded by his own passion and with imperfect 
knowledge of the social chess-board, could guess that Lady 
Dullingham had driven Thea nearly to frenzy by glance 
and innuendo. Would Thea’s rectitude be proof against 
the world's contemptuous sneers and Hugh Musgrave’s 
passionate pleading? Of a surety, a man of the world 
would have said that the best safeguard is Hugh Musg rave’s 
poverty, that paucity of means which compelled his speedy 
return to exile. 

The Derby morning dawned somewhat dully, and many 
ardent holiday-makers peered out with dismay at the gray 
heavy clouds that, so far, obscured the sun; but things got 
better as the day grew older, and by nine o’clock the sun 
had fairly got the better of his enemies, and, despite the 
drawback of a sharp north-east wind, there was a promise 
of fine weather. 

“ Not a morning for dust coats, Cis, although there’ll 
be doubtless plenty of that article about,” said Musgrave, 
as the pair met at the Theatine. “ As I intend to live be- 
tween your box and the paddock, I have come pretty 
heavily sheeted myself. ’ ’ 

“ You are about right,” replied Maltby, “it’s areal 
good trappy May day. Sun enough to humbug you into 
the idea it’s midsummer, with a north-easter blowing at the 


THE OUTSIDER. 


119 


W 


same time, that would call forth bad language in March. 
No w, if you're ready, off we go. We are to pick the gen- 
eral up at the station/ ' and with the time-honored jest of 
i£ May we be richer, as well as wiser, men when we next 
pass the threshold/ ' the two men jumped into a cab and 
set off on their travels. 

General Lovett and Musgrave were old racing acquaint- 
ances. They picked him up on the Victoria platform with- 
out difficulty, and on their arrival at Epsom, the trio de- 
termined to make their way at once to the paddock, to take 
stock of the competitors for the big race. There is the 
elation of seeing the horse that carries your fortunes shoot 
first past the winning-post; there is the hilarious lunch on 
the top of a drag loaded with winners, when the Pommery 
flows freely, and the mildest of jests is received with a rip- 
ple of laughter. There is what a friend of mine suavely 
designates as “ taking tea with your own regiment,” which 
is much the same thing, only differently expressed ; but the 
pleasantest part of the Derby is, i think, that quiet hour in 
the paddock before the saddling bell goes for the big race. 
What meetings take place there! Friends who've not seen 
each other for years clasp hands under the shade of the 
historical tree; and, a few brief questions and answers con- 
cerning what each has been about since they last met, done 
with, speedily fall into talking calendar, and exchanging 
views on the great business of the day. 

Now he is once down there, Musgrave throws himself 
into the interest of the hour as keenly as either of his com- 
panions. Like any man who has once really loved racing, 
Hugh has kept a keen eye on the sporting intelligence of 
the newspapers, and, therefore, is pretty well up in the 
past performances of the competitors. They are all fair 
judges of a horse; but the general is something more than 
that, and scans each horse as he walks round and round, 
both narrowly and eagerly, descanting learnedly on thighs 
and backs, forearms and barrels, and the past races in 


120 


THE OUTSIDER. 


which their possessors had variously figured. He informs 
his companions at last that he considers Cockatoo to be 

“ The pick of the basket, the pride of the shop,” 

and should trust him with his money accordingly. Hav- 
ing settled this point, they make their way back to the 
grand stand, and there, after a minute or two’s conversa- 
tion, separate, Cis and the general making their way into 
the inner ring, while Musgrave turns leisurely to the stairs 
leading up to the balcony boxes. Cis had not got many 
paces inside Tat ter sail’s inclosure, when he heard his 
name shouted in stentorian tones; both he and the general 
turned to see who it was that was hailing Maltby, and next 
the rails they discovered Mr. Sparrow frantically gesticu- 
lating. 

“ Captain Maltby, Captain Maltby! one moment if you 
please, sir, only one moment. I haven’t a minute to spare 
myself. ’ ’ 

Cis walked up to the rails, and said: 

“ Now, Sparrow, what is it?” 

“ Who was it you were speaking to just now?” exclaimed 
the excited book-maker. “ That dark gentleman?” 

“Mr. Musgrave,” replied Cis. “ Have you anything 
against him?” For it flashed across Maltby’s mind that the 
book-maker might have some forgotten claim against Hugh. 

“Against him! No, I’ve nothing against him, it’s 
rather t’other way on,” continued Mr. Sparrow, with a 
queer smile. “ That’s the Mr. Musgrave who was knocked 
out over the Cambridgeshire some two years ago. I was a 
very small man in those days, and didn’t even know the 
big wigs by sight. Will you please bring him to me, Cap- 
tain Maltby, as quickly as possible? I can’t leave my 
‘ pitch. ’ I have taken up my stand just below there — 
there — just at that corner, and, of course, my customers 
look to find me there — please bring Mr. Musgrave to me; 
tell him I must see him before this race, for I want to do 


THE OUTSIDER. 


121 


him a good tarn, and that he is likely to be real sorry 
afterward if he don't see me. I'd go to him in a moment, 
but I must attend to business. Do fetch him, captain.” 

44 1 will give him your message,” replied Cis, 44 but 
whether he'll think it worth while to come down from the 
box to speak to you, I can't say. Does he know your 
name?'' 

44 Never heard it, I should think,” replied the book- 
maker. 

64 Well, hadn't you better tell me a little more? Mr. 
Musgrave may hardly think it worth while to pay attention 
to such a vague message as this from a man he never heard 
of." 

44 1 can tell you nothing more,” replied the book-maker 
doggedly, 44 or, at all events, I won't. Do your best to 
bring him, captain, and if you can't, remember I did my 
best to repay a kindness. I shall be down there, but what 
I've got to tell I'll tell to nobody but him," and with this 
Mr. Sparrow hurried away. 

44 Rum go, general; what do you think of it?" asked Cis. 

44 1 say decidedly fetch Musgrave at once; remember the 
story Mr. Sparrow told us coming up from Newmarket," 
said the general; 44 it is just probable that Musgrave is the 
man who threw him that sovereign, or still more likely he 
thinks he is the man who did so." 

44 Never thought of that, by Jove!" said Cis. 44 You 
stay here, general; I'll fetch him at once," and he hurried 
away. 

Musgrave, who was in the tranquil enjoyment of a cigar, 
was at first very disinclined to leave his box. 

44 Pooh! my dear Cis," he said, 44 he, of course, wants 
to give me a tip of some kind ; you had much better put 
my unhappy fiver on Cockatoo for me." 

44 The general and I have decided not to back that noble 
animal," rejoined Cis. 44 They are laying six to four on 
him, and we in our wisdom, don't think him good enough 


THE OUTSIDER. 


122 

for that. Come along, Hugh. I ? ve a strong idea Mr. 
Sparrow is going to do us a good turn/* 

Thus adjured Musgrave rose, and followed Maltby down 
to the lawn. Threading their way through the crowd, they 
made their way to the right-hand corner of the lawn, next 
TattersalPs inclosure, where Mr. Sparrow plied his calling. 

The book-makers quick eye caught Maltby before they 
reached him. He was evidently doing a rattling trade, and 
with a comprehensive “ one moment, if you please; I 
must speak to this gentleman,” he stepped forward to meet 
Cis and his companion. 

“Mr. Musgrave!” he exclaimed, as he touched his hat 
to Hugh, “you did me a great turn once — made a man 
of me, in fact. It’s too long a story to go into now, but 
I have a chance to pay you back. I have never seen you 
since, and I did not know who you were at the time I was 
speaking of. I know all about you now, sir, and I know 
you’ve had a roughish time. On the turf, as at the gam- 
ing table, Fortune is a capricious mistress, but trust her 
once more, sir — trust her this time, if you never trust her 
again. I know you have given it all up, but back what 
I’m going to tell you to-day, if you never have another bet 
on a race!” 

“ Well?” ejaculated Hugh. 

“ Go nap on Mazeppa, sir; it’s such a chance to win 
money as a man gets but once in a life-time — almost any 
price you like to name about him. Back him for every 
sixpence you can lay your hand on!” 

“ Tv T hy,” said Hugh, utterly astounded at the advice, 
“ he is not even going to start. His very owner says he 
can’t win.” 

“ Never mind what his owner says,” rejoined Mr. Spar- 
row. “ I know he does not think so, though he is stand- 
ing this minute to win, perhaps, the biggest stake ever 
taken out of the ring.” 

“ But he is not going, man, I tell you. I’ve just come 


THE OUTSIDER. 


123 


from the paddock, where I've been looking at the horses, 
and he was not amongst them. ” 

“ Never mind that,” rejoined the book-maker, “ hell be 
all there when the flag falls, and all there, too, when they 
pass the post. Look,” he cried, “ there go the numbers, 
and you see his is amongst them. I can spare no more 
time, Mr. Musgrave; I am playing for the biggest stake I 
ever did in my life, and, believe me, you'll be wrong if you 
don't follow mv lead.” 

“ But,” argued Hugh, “ the horse came to thorough 
grief in his training.” 

6 6 He met with a mishap,” retorted the book-maker, 
“ much exaggerated in the first place, and intentionally 
exaggerated in the second; the public don't know it, his 
owner don't know it; they all think tile horse is as dead as 
door nails. I can only say, Mr. Musgrave, you may never 
have such a chance again,” and with that Mr. Sparrow 
shot off to resume his vocation. 

Musgrave speedily rejoined his companions, who were 
waiting with no little curiosity to hear what it was the 
book-maker had to impart. 

“ It wasn't worth it, Cis, indeed it wasn't, to disturb a 
man over a good cigar to hear such rubbish as that; and 
yet the fellow is tremendously in earnest, and it's difficult 
to see what object he can have in putting me wrong.” 

“ But what did he tell you, man, what was it?” ex- 
claimed Maltby impatiently. 

“ There are always a good many horses that start for the 
Derby that have no chance to win. Think of the least 
likely of them all, think of the 4 deadest ' of all the lot, 
and that's Mr. Sparrow's tip.” 

“ Mazeppa!” ejaculated the general. “ Then his num- 
ber is not up by mistake. Did he give you any reason?” 

64 Next to none,” replied Musgravfc; “ he only said dog- 
matically that his training mishap had been grossly exag- 


124 


THE OUTSIDER. 


gerated, and that his owner is as much in the dark as any 
one else.” / 

“ Well,” said Cis, “if this isn't a recommendation to 
throw good money after bad, to cast more of our substance 
down the book-maker's insatiable maw, I never heard of 
such.” 

“ Stop a bit,” said the general, “ just let me think this 
out. I don't agree with you, Maltby; we can't back Cock- 
atoo, because it's odds on, but we're both prepared to throw 
away a pony on something or other, with a view to getting 
back what we look upon as our lost Mazeppa money. 
We'll go for the gloves; we both stand to win a good stake 
over the horse; we'll have another fifty on him between us 
at a long shot, and. Mr. Musgrave, you must join us. I 
pin my faith on Sparrow, and I must be your banker for a 
hundred if you will allow me.” 

“My dear general, I couldn't think of such a thing,” 
said Musgrave. 

“ Nonsense, we shall have no luck if you're not in it. 
Now Maltby, off you go, and dribble that hundred and fifty 
on to Mazeppa; there's no time to lose, for the horses are 
coming out of the paddock.” 

Cis shot into Tattersall's inclosure, and set to work at 
once. It does not take long to back a hopeless outsider. 
Business was in full blast; men were tumbling over each 
other to back almost anything, but in Cis's case there was 
no competition. If there was one horse the public seemed 
to have unanimously agreed to leave alone it was Mazeppa. 

Before the horses had gone by in their preliminary, Cis 
had laid out the whole of his money, at prices varying from 
a thousand to fifteen to a thousand to twenty-five, and 
then, closing his betting-book with a snap, ran upstairs to 
tell his confederates what he had done, and see the race. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


125 


CHAPTER XV. 

“the dead un's woisr." 

The general looked up interrogatively as Cis entered the 
box, and the dragoon at once responded to his old chief's 
glance. 

“ Haven't had quite time to figure it all up but we stand 
to win between eight and nine thousand, and the price 
averages about fifty to one; run your eye over the book," 
continued Cis. “ I should think there was hardly a man 
beside myself in the ring backing it; the public are firm 
in their«allegiance to Cockatoo, while Redgauntlet and Sky- 
Scraper have plenty of money behind them." 

“Well, Maltby," said the general, as he finished his 
calculation, “ it will be a very pretty win for us all round 
if it comes off. If you and I have got a much smaller 
share of this than Musgrave, we have got that twenty hun- 
dred apiece we took last year about Mazeppa. Now we'll 
see the race." 

“Upon my word it is awfully good of you, general," 
said Musgrave; “ what puzzles me, is, why Mr. Sparrow 
has thought proper to vouchsafe me this extraordinary tip 
should the horse go anything near winning." 

“No," replied the general. “ He had no time to tell 
you, and you, perhaps, hardly recollect the circumstance, 
but I will tell it to you as he tolciit to Maltby and myself, 
on our way up from the Craven Meeting this spring." 
And with that, while the horses clustered at the post, the 
general related to Musgrave how he had thrown a sovereign 
to a broken man from the steps of the Theatine; how it 
had been the making of that man's fortune; how that man 
had only been anxious to meet him, and thank him ever 
since; how the name of that man was Sparrow; hojw that 


126 


THE OUTSIDER. 


he had worked himself up, according to his own account, 
from being a race-course hanger-011 to the position of a re- 
spectable book-maker; and how that this hint about 
Mazeppa was the final outcome of his gratitude. “ Are 
you surprised no w,” concluded the general, “ that we in- 
sisted on your backing him, and are following your lead?” 

“ Suppose I did give a fellow a sovereign,” rejoined Mus- 
grave; “ I’ve a vague recollection of doing something of 
the kind, though I’d be sorry to swear to it; but I threw 
away so many sovereigns at that time, that it is not odd 
that I can’t remember in what direction a good many of 
them went.” 

Ah!” exclaimed Cis, whose glasses were on the horses. 
** A beautiful start at the very first attempt,” but here his 
voice was drowned in that thunderous roar of “ They’re 
off!” which always accompanies the fall of the flag for the 
Derby, startling to the stranger who hears it for the first 
time, especially when contrasted with the minute or so of 
silence that follows ere the busy comments on the race once 
more burst from the lips of the spectators. 

“ Daffodil is done with already,” exclaimed the general. 
“ Not much use sending a rip like that to make running 
for Cockatoo; lie’s a rare stayer, and wants a strong-run 
race, but he’ll have to cut out his work himself now.” 

No, general; the * all black ’ is leading them a merry 
dance. Cockatoo lies fourth, but where the deuce our 
horse has got to, I don’t know.” 

Ci I think I see him in the ruck/” said Musgrave quietly, 
as he dropped his glasses and flipped the ash off his cigar. 
He was, perhaps, the coolest of the three, though they were 
all men accustomed to play for heavy stakes. 

“ Sky Scraper is lying third,” said the general. “ If he 
takes it into his head to try, he’ll about win. They’ve 
backed him for a heap of money, in spite of how often he 
has let them through; but he is a flyer if nothing upsets 
his temper.” 


THE OUTSIDER. 


127 


“ The pace is getting hot now,” cried Cis. “ The black 
jacket is bringing them down the hill in a way that will 
find out doubtful fore legs. Cockatoo is going well, and 
Redgauntlet is threading his way to the front. Now they 
come to the bend' and begin to look all in a cluster.” 

“ Yes,” said the general; “ they always appear to be all 
together coming round the corner. Now comes the tug. 
Ah! they’re in the straight now. They single themselves 
out, instead of looking like a kaleidoscope. ‘ All black ‘ 
still leads, but the favorite is going up to him. ” 

And now the horses are fairly in view, as they come 
thundering up the straight. At the road the black jacket 
is in trouble, and Cockatoo comes on with the lead, while 
Redgauntlet is creeping up on the far side of the course. 
At the bell Redgauntlet has caught the favorite, and 
amidst screams of “ Cockatoo wins!” “ Redgauntlet wins!’" 
“ Redgauntlet walks in!” the two come away, locked 
together, when suddenly, on the upper ground, a scarlet 
jacket comes like a flash, joins issue with the leaders, and 
a tremendous race ensues between the three. The roar of 
the crowd is hushed, there is almost a silence for a few 
seconds; then comes a low murmur. “ What is it?” 
“ What is it?” “ Whose colors are red and black cap?” 

6 c It can’t be!” “ Absurd!” Suddenly, as the numbers 
just clear the heads of the crowd, a hat flew high in the 
air, and a stentorian voice shouted in mad exultation: 

“ The dead un’s won, by Jupiter!” 

“ Mazeppa, by all that’s unfathomable!” exclaimed a 
voice in the next box to the general’s. “ I’m not sure, but 
I believe I’ve won ten thousand pounds. What have you 
done, old man?” 

“ Well,” replied another voice in a somewhat dazed 
fashion, “ I’ll be hanged if I know. I only know I haven’t 
done that, nor anything like it. ” 

“I congratulate you, Glastonbury,” said the general. 
“ Glad to hear you’ve had such a good race.” 


12 S 


THE OUTSIDEK. 


“ Thanks,” returned the other. “ Like everybody who 
has won over Mazeppa, I fancy I’m a winner in spite of 
myself. Had to stand it out, you know, because we 
couldn't hedge.” 

“Well/' said Cis, “Mr. Sparrow has turned out a 
trump. By Jove! Hugh, for once you did lay out a 
sovereign profitably. ” 

“ I sincerely hope I did," rejoined Musgrave laughing. 
“ I wish I felt a little clearer about having given it to 
him. It's an uncomfortable feeling to think that I may 
have obtained this tip under false pretenses, and that the 
real donor of that sovereign has backed something that is 
hopelessly beaten; however, come along, I must go and 
thank Sparrow for the most wonderful tip that ever I heard 
of. '' 

But this was easier said than done. There is always a 
general cessation of business after the Derby, and Mr. 
Sparrow was nowhere to be found; in the exuberance of his 
spirits he was busied in an adjacent booth proffering 
champagne to all his friends and acquaintance. He had 
landed what was for him a large stake, and knew that he 
had gone at one bound several steps up the ladder. No- 
body understood better than he that, in his vocation, money 
makes money. A book-maker is often cramped in his 
operations from mere want of capital. 

Having failed to return thanks to the book-maker, Hugh 
started off in search of Lord Codington's drag. Some 
lunch there he thought in Mrs. Welstead's society would 
be an exceedingly pleasant way of winding up the afternoon. 
He had made liis coup , and was not going to trouble him- 
self about betting on any of the minor events. But find- 
ing a drag at Epsom is not quite so easy a thing when you 
have no idea of the pennant it intends to fly. It would be 
no doubt amongst the drags on the other side of the 
course, and there after much search he at last discovered 
it; but much to his disappointment Thea was not amongst 


THE OUTSIDEK. 


129 


its occupants. In truth that volatile little lady never had 
the slightest intention of joining the party, and had only 
said so at Mrs. Petersham's ball, with the express purpose 
of horrifying a couple of prim old dowagers who she 
thought seemed scandalized with her proceedings. Hugh 
was not altogether ignorant of the mysterious ways of 
women, but upon this occasion he had been at fault, and 
accepted Mrs. Welstead's remark as an earnest of her in- 
tentions. However, there was no help for it, and the man 
who has just won five thousand pounds, and who finds him- 
self on a drag with a merry party and an excellent 
luncheon, must be hard to please if he can not make out a 
good time of it. His meal satisfactorily finished, Musgrave 
once more bethought himself of rejoining his companions. 
As he came through the lawn, lffc espied Mr. Sparrow once 
more hard at work in his old corner. 

46 1 want to speak to you for a moment/ ' said Musgrave, 
quietly touching him on the shoulder. 

44 Seventy to forty on the field !” roared the book-maker. 

“Now sir, which is it?” and, then catching sight of 
Hugh's face, he exclaimed, “ Good Lord, Mr. Musgrave, 
I didn't know it was you!” 

“ I want to speak to you for five minutes.” 

“ And I you, sir; what a go it was to be sure! But ex- 
cuse me for a few minutes, the favorites are going down 
like nine-pins, and it's one of our .afternoons. Do wait a 
moment, sir. The public are ravening for money, and we 
must give them a chance.'' 

“ All right,” rejoined Hugh, as he stood lazily by and 
watched Mr. Sparrow ply his arduous but profitable trade. 
He had bet scores of times with these men, or rather with 
bigger men in the vocation than Mr. Sparrow, but it had 
never occurred to him before, the rapid knowledge of 
figures that it requires to be a legitimate book-maker. He 
knew, of course, that all this business was conducted upon 
strictly mathematical principles. He knew that the ideal 


130 


THE OUTSIDER. 


book-maker’s volume by which you stood to win by every 
horse in the race was rarely written. He knew also prac- 
tically that, as a rule, these men stood to lose but little 
over anything, to win over several, and to land a really 
good stake in the event of the turn-up. Mr. Sparrow had 
not, so far, considered his business big enough to necessitate 
the employment of a secretary, although, par parenthese, 
this was the last meeting that he was ever seen without one, 
yet Mr. Sparrow never seemed at fault, his head never 
seemed to fail him. It was rarely he had to glance at his 
volume, or pause to consider when he had laid his book 
against any particular horse. That he was a popular man, 
and also a tolerably well-known one, was evident by the 
number of his customers. 

“ Done, gentlemen, don#!” he cried at last, with a jolly 
laugh. “I’ve never another mag to bet on this race. 
No, gentlemen, not even if I could give orders that one of 
them should never have his head loose from the post. 
Now, Mr. Musgrave, bother this race. I want to have a 
little talk with you. You made me, sir. I’ve done a bib 
for myself since, and if you won’t help yourself besides, it’s 
mighty little use any one else trying to help you; but from 
the day you chucked me that sovereign, my luck turned. 
I’ve had a real big win for me to-day, and I do hope, sir, 
you stood Mazeppa for something tidy. ” 

“ I won five thousand over it,” replied Hugh quietly, 
“ and you must accept a memento from me — a remem- 
brance of Mazeppa, in fact. ” 

“ Nothing of the kind, sir,” replied Sparrow sharply, 
with a hurt and almost injured expression on his face. 
“ You helped me in my utmost need. The first time I’ve 
had a chance I have done you a good turn. There is no 
more to be said, sir, we’re quits.” 

“We are nothing of the kind!” exclaimed Musgrave. 

“Nothing can ever make me quits with the man who, be- 
cause I, in an idle moment, threw him a few shillings, if 


THE OUTSIDER. 


131 


indeed I was the man that did, took the trouble you have 
done to repay it. Please don't think Fm talking of a 
check or anything of that sort. I understand you better. 
Sparrow; but you must accept some trifle from my hands 
as a souvenir of Mazeppa's Derby. A watch, a ring, a 
cigar case, any trifle you fancy, and if you can't make up 
your mind to that,” said Hugh, in that soft persuasive 
voice which both men and women found it difficult to deny, 
“ you must let it be some trifle I fancy.” 

“ I beg your pardon, sir,” replied Sparrow. “ I mis- 
understood you for a moment. Will you shake hands?” 
and as the pair clinched palms the book-maker said: 
“ No, Mr. Musgrave, it was no mistake. Men at as dead 
low water as I was then never forget the face of any one 
who stretched out a hand to them. Anything of that kind, 
Mr. Musgrave, I shall be only too pleased to accept from 
you. One thing, sir, whatever it is let it have the horse's 
name on it. He has been a real good friend to both of us. 99 


CHAPTEK NVI. 

“ THE GLORIES OF VICTORY . 99 

If a momentary stillness had succeeded the great race, 
one of those silences which sometimes for a space of sixty 
seconds or so descend upon a crowd wound up to a high 
state of excitement, and still ignorant of what has or is 
about to happen, that stillness was made up for by the 
babble of tongues when London heard of Mazeppa's vic- 
tory. At no period of turf history had speculation ever 
raged higher, and there was no doubt but it had been a 
most sensational Derby. In club smoking-rooms, and in 
drawing-rooms, fabulous were the sums rumored to have 
been won and lost; extraordinary astuteness was ascribed 
to most of the winners, astuteness indeed to which they 
had no possible claim, being winners for the most part in 


THE OUTSIDER. 


132 

spite of themselves, having backed Mazeppa at long odds, 
and in consequence of his mishap having had no chance to 
cover their bets. On no race of late years had there been 
so much by-betting, that is to say, wagers in which one 
horse was backed against one other; it was a mode of 
backing their favorite which seemed to have found much 
favor in the eyes of the partisans of Mazeppa. 

But if there were rumors of large winners, it stands to 
reason that there were also reports of very heavy losers; it 
was whispered about that the next Monday would bring 
with it some grewsome stories, that there were many 
among the gentlemen who had thought proper to bet wildly 
against Mazeppa; that others, again, who had laid these 
heavy by-wagers, looking upon the horse as having no pos- 
sible chance, had never taken the trouble to secure them- 
selves by taking the long odds against Mazeppa when they 
found he was going to start, as in common prudence they 
ought to have done. That the ring would never settle was 
asseverated in more than one quarter, notwithstanding that 
this much maligned body as a whole always do meet theii 
engagements. Two or three of them may perhaps break 
over a very heavy betting race, such as this one was; but, 
as a rule, they have no more defaulters than other business 
communities during a financial crisis. 

Amongst the heroes of the hour figured Hugh Musgrave; 
all sorts of versions of his luck were floating about in so- 
ciety. That his winnings were multiplied four-fold, one 
need scarcely observe; it always is on these occasions. 
“ Miraculous,” exclaimed Charley Wrey, “ who before 
ever heard of gratitude in a book-maker! the romance is 
interesting,” he continued. “I donT believe Musgrave 
has ever been abroad; he has been residing all the time in 
the suburbs, and employed as a brother of charity amongst 
the very class of men who wrought his undoing. It was 
beautiful, it was sublime, this turning the other cheek to 
the smiter. He cast his bread upon the waters, and he has 


THE OUTSIDER. 


133 


his reward; but it don't do for us ordinary young men to 
trust to the gratitude of book-makers. " This mocking, 
jesting version of Wrey's made its way gradually around 
society, and there were pot wanting circumstantial narrators 
who told how Hugh had discovered the book-maker starv- 
ing; how he had brought home coals in the pockets of his 
overcoat (narrator did not say from where), how he made 
some soup, and in fact snatched the book-maker from the 
brink of the grave; and how “ this ring fellow, don't you 
know, I forget his name. Linnet, Chaffinch, or something 
of that sort, just like one of the jolly old ladies in the fairy 
tales, filled Musgra^e's pockets with gold, and is no doubt 
going to marry him to the king's daughter before the year 
is out. " 

Garbled versions there were, and much heated debate to 
boot, concerning *the finding of the coin, whether it was 
copper or gold; according to one version, the wicked Mr. 
Chaffinch saw Musgrave drop it, picked it up, and con- 
verted it to his own use, and on his sick bed made confes- 
sion of the crime to his benefactor. Others again, who 
had got much nearer the true story;' said that the coin was 
a French five -sou piece, and that Mr. Sparrow, who had in 
his time experienced much difficulty in hunting what Henri 
Miirger calls “ that ferocious beast le piece cle cinq cent 
sous,” superstitiously believing that his luck was wrapped 
up with that coin, had had it drilled, rimmed with gold, 
and wore it on his watch-chain. A little more, and 
“ Mazeppa " lockets became the rage, small bronze repre- 
sentations of a five-sou piece set in gold. It was the 
charm of the season, and as fashionable as bells and pigs 
became subsequently. Varied were the stories of that 
sensational Derby, but none, I think, took more hold on 
the public than what became known as the book-maker's 
romance. It had gone the round of the papers, and 
amongst other people who attained much notoriety from 
it w r as Mr. Sparrow himself. Now notoriety is to a man 


134 


THE OUTSIDER. 


of his profession invaluable, so long as it contains no re- 
flection on his credit, but, as one young gentleman much 
addicted to reckless plunging sagaciously observed, 4 4 a solid 
book-maker who gives such tips as this is a man to be culti- 
vated.^ Mr. Sparrow had made himself a name, and was 
far too shrewd a man not to make the most of it. The 
success of Mazeppa had enlarged his capital as well as his 
custom. At Ascot the book-maker became the rage. It 
was quite a correct thing to have a bet with Sparrow. 
“ Very safe man, you know, gave Musgrave that famous 
tip for the Derby •/’ and by the time the Royal meeting 
had terminated, concluding as it usually does very much 
in favor of the fielders, there was no doubt about it — Mr. 
Sparrow must become a member of TattersalPs. He was 
a really substantial member of his profession at last, and 
on the high-road to attain the object of his ambition, 
namely, that of becoming one of the magnates of the ring. 

“ There is nothing like following your luck ” is a time- 
honored adage; had not Mr. Sparrow himself enunciated 
this theory on his way up from Newmarket in the Craven 
week, little dreaming what the idle chatter of a railway 
journey would tend to bring about? Hugh Musgrave was 
a man in whose doings society had always more or less in- 
terested itself, and now he really promised to afford them 
much matter for conversation. While the town was yet 
ringing with the tale of his Epsom gains it was informed 
that he had won another great stake. On the Sunday 
preceding Ascot there is run a famous race near Paris en- 
titled the Grand Prix, and for this Hugh Musgrave on the 
above-mentioned principle had backed the English horses 
against the French for a level thousand, and once more 
had fortune smiled upon him. The Royal meeting, too, 
fatal as it had been to the generality of backers, had curi- 
ously enough proved a veritable gold-mine to him. Care- 
fully eschewing general speculation, he had reserved him- 
self for some three or four coups which had proved to be 


THE OUTSIDER. 


135 


the certainties they looked on paper; on these he had 
plunged “in the fearless old fashion/* and at the end of 
that week he was once more credited with a very substan- 
tial sum in reality and an enormous one in the eyes of the 
world. 

There is nothing extraordinary about a run of luck of 
this nature, it is as common on the race-course as at the 
gaming table; any old turfite could point you out scores of 
such instances. It is only fifteen years ago since the late 
Baron Rothschild addressed his constituents in a speech 
which oifers singular contrast to the wordy rhetoric of most 
politicians. Brief were his words; briefer still the perora- 
tion, three little, words, but in all their bursts of oratory 
did Bright, Beaconsfield, or Gladstone ever give such ad- 
vice to their auditors as that pithy, “ Follow the Baron/’ 
A merry Christmas must have been the lot of those who 
took the hint, for the well-known dark blue and yellow 
cap carried all before it from Epsom Downs to New r - 
market, and bore the names of Derby, Oaks, St. Leger, 
and Cesare witch on its scroll of victory. 

The vicissitudes of the race-course are at times as start- 
ling as they are rapid. Scarce three weeks ago and Hugh 
Musgrave was gravely debating whether he could afford to 
stay a month in England, and now he had actually won 
money enough, if judiciously invested, to about double the 
modest income that remained to him. “ To follow your 
luck/* may be a good maxim, but to know when to leave 
off is a bit of knowledge quite as useful and much more 
difficult to acquire. Musgrave and Mr. Sparrow were by 
this time great friends. The book-maker always attributed 
his prosperity to the start Hugh had given him; while on 
the other hand he proudly reflected that, if Mr. Musgrave 
had made him, he had set Mr. Musgrave on his legs again. 
Moreover, he had that strong feeling for him so commonly 
felt by men for those on whom they confer benefits — that 
feeling of which Dickens has made such grotesque use in 


136 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ Great Expectations/ ' wherein Mr. Magwitch never tires 
of exalting over the gentleman he has made of Pip. But 
for that very reason the book-maker now counseled moder- 
ation ; he did not wish that the man whom he had, so to 
say, set up, should be speedily knocked down again. 

“ I'd stick to my winnings now, Mr. Musgrave, I would, 
indeed, sir,” said Mr. Sparrow on the last day of the Ascot 
Meeting. “ I am going on, of course, but then it is differ- 
ent with us; it's like the tables at Monaco, we must win in 
the end, if we only exercise common sense and play the 
strict game. It's all summed up in this — men and horses 
deceive but figures don't. Just you wait till I've another 
Mazeppa chance for you. " 

“Warned off the turf/' said Musgrave, “for that's 
about what it comes to. Such a chance as that only comes 
once in a life-time, and if I am to bet no more till you once 
more prompt me, I may as well give up racing.” 

Curious what a change these last two or three weeks have 
wrought in him; Hugh forgets what a little time back it is 
that he said he had given up racing, how that the sole 
thing that had really taken him down to ’Epsom had been 
the chance of passing an afternoon in Mrs. Welstead's so- 
ciety. There was no question of his leaving England now, 
and he fully made up his mind to see the season out and 
enjoy himself to the uttermost. Thea and he had met 
many times since Mrs. Petersham's ball, chiefly in society, 
but Hugh had also paid more than one visit to the little 
house in Bryanston Square, and in her present defiant mood 
Thea had not forbidden such calls. What difference did it 
make? she would ask herself vehemently. “If I can re- 
ceive Lord Collington, why should I not receive Mr. Mus- 
grave — what difference can it make? Am I a child that I 
should be dictated to by that stuck-up Lady Dullingham? 
Am I to submit to the dictum of a censorious lot of old 
women as to whom*I may receive and whom not? No, my 
husband has forfeited all right to control my actions, and 


THE OUTSIDER. 


13 ? 


these are matters now that are leff to my discretion;” and 
yet try to deceive herself though she might, Thea was not 
one whit duped by such sophisms as these. She knew very 
well that there was the greatest difference between receiv- 
ing Lord Collington and Hugh Musgrave. The one was 
merely a friend; the other had been her avowed lover be- 
fore her marriage, her tacit admirer afterward, and prom- 
ised now to be tacit no longer. Her name had been notori- 
ously coupled with the latter, while scandal had never 
dreamed of commenting on her intimacy with the former. 
She was no fool, she saw all the imprudence of her present 
proceedings; she knew that she was playing with fire, she 
knew that Hugh loved her passionately. There was not 
much danger in that, but she was also not blind to the fact 
that she returned his love, and that, I think experts in 
these matters would have said, put a very different com- 
plexion on the case. She was confident in her own strength 
of character; her life was very dull and solitary, why 
should she not bask in these few weeks of sunshine that lay 
before her? The season over, Hugh would go his way, and 
she would go hers, and they would be no more to each 
other. 

Rashness! That supreme strength in our own power to 
overcome temptation is a sure sign of the infirmity ~of our 
nature. “ The best way to overcome the passions,” quoth 
the cynical St. Evremonde, “ is to indulge them;” and 
the easiest way to escape them, quoth the moralist, is to fly 
them. 

It was not to be supposed Thea's flirtation escaped the 
eyes of the town. Hugh had always been well known, and 
was now a notoriety in the London world. The man who 
breaks the bank is always an object of interest to his fel- 
lows, and the account of Musgrave’s winnings during the 
last few weeks depended upon the imaginative powers of 
the narrator. If Hugh had been disappointed about meet- 
ing Mrs. Welstead at Epsom, ample atonement had been 


138 


THE OUTSIDER. 


made to him at Ascot, 4 where for three long summer after- 
noons he was constantly at her side. Thea was staying with 
a pleasant party at a villa not very far from the course — 
sporting people who took the keenest interest in the races, 
who were punctual in their attendance each day. And 
what ball-room affords such opportunities for flirtation as a 
race-course? Hugh marked her card, and insisted on her 
having a slight interest in his own speculations. Of course, 
he took care of her at luncheon, and his shoulder was there 
to lean upon when she stood upon the seat of the break to 
look at the racing; in short, the pair indulged in three 
afternoons of such butterfly love-making as is much in fash- 
ion at Ascot. The question was in their case, was it but- 
terfly love-making, mere flirtation, or something more 
serious; and there were two people present at the Royal 
Meeting who regarded it by no means in that light. 

Lady Dullingham laughed maliciously when she first 
discovered this little comedy going on — and from that time 
devoted more of her attention to Hugh and his companion 
than she did to the legitimate business of the day. Her 
glasses were continually leveled at the adjacent break. 

“Ah! my dear/* she said to one of her intimates, “I 
wonder when that little pastorale will terminate: when will 
spotless Phyllis and immaculate Oorydon make an end of 
such fooling, and how. I have all along declined to believe 
in the innocence of that affair; some people think other- 
wise. Some people will see Mr. Welstead will be in a fair 
way to obtain his release before the end of the season, un- 
less, perchance, Oorydon should tire, and will dance no 
more to poor Phyllis *s piping.** 

It was no fault of Lady Dullingham*s if that imprudent 
flirtation should be overlooked. There were yet another 
pair of glasses often leveled at that same break, but it was 
no feminine hand that held them; and though the looker- 
on*s face did not betray the malicious amusement of Lady 
Dullingham ? s, yet I think an observer would have thought 


THE OUTSIDER. 


139 


the man more deeply interested in Thea’s proceedings than 
was her ladyship. A handsome face, too, it was, though 
wearing a jaded, wearied expression, such as betokens long 
nights at the card- tables, and more consumption of tobacco 
or strong waters than is good for one. A slight man of 
barely middle-height and somewhat effeminate appearance, 
dressed in the extreme of dandyism from his lavender 
gloves to his patent leather shoes; he was evidently well- 
known amongst the racing fraternity. Many of the book- 
makers addressed him, as well as did many of the gentle- 
men connected with the turf. He had a low trainante 
voice, and the cigarette between his lips only died out to be 
at once replaced by another. Hardly the man you would 
expect to have pointed out to you as perhaps the most no- 
torious roue in town. Such was Algernon Welstead; and 
he was now looking on at his wife’s proceedings with no 
little irritation; for the first time he was experiencing a 
sharp attack of jealousy. 

Had Lady Dullingham been aware of this new complica- 
tion in her pastorale , she would have been much amused, 
and would probably have commented upon it, somewhat in 
this fashion: “ Jealous! what very bad style on the part of 
Monsieur le mari — absurd too. It is too late for him to 
contract that complaint; he should have had his fit before. 
However, it does not much matter nowadays; it is not pos- 
sible to give to such comedies a tragedy ending — it is only 
a matter of damages, which dreadfully vulgarizes the whole 
affair. When a woman went wrong in the old times it 
must have been some consolation to her to think there was 
a probability of a man being killed about it. ” If I have 
misconstrued Lady Dullingham’s views on the subject, I 
apologize. She was not a lady with much idea of temper- 
ing the wind to the lamb that had strayed without the fold. 


140 


THE OUTSIDER 


CHAPTER XTO, 

“JULIANS TROUBLES. 

Algernon Welstead had now thoroughly awoke to the 
fact that he had made a great mistake. Such insult as he 
had passed upon his wife he knew it was scarcely likely a 
woman would forgive; it is only among the Orientals that 
a wife can ever forget the degradation of having seen the 
concubine set up in her place. Welstead was suffering from 
no pangs of remorse, he was repenting not an iota of the 
shame he had put upon Thea, it was simply he groaned 
under the iron thrall of Mile. Therese. He had separated 
from a wife, who if he had ceased to care about her, had at 
all events been an ornament to his house, and a woman to 
be socially proud of 5 a woman who, if she had some little 
tendency to extravagance, was at all events not rapacious. 
Now he had fallen into the hands of a veritable daughter of 
the horse-leech, whose thirst for gold seemed insatiable. It 
was a just Nemesis; if he had been false and faithless he 
was now in the toils of a violent, passionate woman, from 
whom he seemed unable to free himself. 

Welstead would have been puzzled to analyze his feelings 
toward his own wife. From the very first he had been 
struck with her, and somewhat piqued at the coldness with 
which she had received his advances; for he was a man to 
whom such amourettes as he indulged in wealth had made 
facile, and to whom society had certainly given much en- 
couragement to cast the handkerchief. Caprice on the one 
side and pique on the other had been the chief factors in 
their ill-starred marriage. Welstead had speedily pene- 
trated the fact that his wife did not love him, and fickle, 
unstable as water where women were concerned, he was 
hardly the man by patient devotion to win the love of such 


THE OUTSIDER. 


141 


a woman as Thea. Another thing too that irritated him 
was that he felt she was intellectually his superior. Wel- 
stead was a man who had gone through the usual curricu- 
lum common to a young man of wealth and family, that is 
to say, he had been to a public school and from thence to 
the University, from which he had brought away little more 
than some aptitude for arithmetic as comprised in the com- 
prehension of vulgar and decimal fractions, and a marvel- 
ous knowledge of the racing calendar. Thea was by no 
means a “blue,” and ’she honestly endeavored to fall in 
with his tastes, and mastered not only the racing shibboleth 
but attained some creditable understanding of turf matters 
generally; but it was no use, man and wife can not always 
discuss racing, and upon other topics Welstead quickly be- 
came cognizant that his wife was “ over his head.” He 
resented the sense of inferiority thus thrust upon him; 
hitherto he had played the Grand Turk in his love-affairs, 
it was new to him to throw on one side his Eastern ideas 
and prostrate himself before the lady of his love. Whether 
Welstead was a man who could have been really constant 
to any woman is matter of question, but certain it is that 
he would never have brought such a scandal about his ears 
but for the designing jade who had unluckily found place 
in his household. She had induced him to listen to that 
little fable of hers. Whether he believed it or not is very 
doubtful, but he speedily succumbed to the temptation. 

It is perhaps hardly likely that he and Thea would have 
ever come honestly together, I don't mean on account of 
the difference in their natures, for we every day see clever 
women making devoted wives to most ponderously minded 
men, and clever men quite as faithful to pretty dolls whom 
we much wonder attracted them. There is, as Sterne says, 
no following the caprices of this same strange passion, but 
it must always be borne in mind that with the Welsteads 
there had been no love on either side to commence with. 

How then came it about that Algernon Welstead should 


142 


THE OUTSIDER. 


have felt the pangs of jealousy at Ascot: It must have 
been in this wise; things so often seem of little or no value 
to us till somebody else appears to covet them. However, 
be the cause what it might, one thing was certain, no pas- 
sionately attached husband could have viewed his wife’s 
flirtation with more fiercely jealous eyes than Algernon Wel- 
stead did. He was a man of a peculiar disposition, a dis- 
appointed man, and he had ambitions, and at one time 
burned to make his mark in the world. True, he was not 
clever, but then he knew that dogged hard work is no very 
bad substitute for talent; but that was just where it was, 
Welstead had little inclination for that. Had it been a ne- 
cessity for him he might have done so, but he had been 
brought up to no profession and been, even in what he was 
wont to call his impoverished day, that is before he came 
into his property, in receipt of a very comfortable allow- 
ance. Still he envied other men their success in life; he even 
envied his fellows their winnings on the turf or at the 
card- table. It was not that he was covetous of money, it 
was the success which jaundiced him. He regarded Thea 
as he would a piece of valuable property ; he might not par- 
ticularly care for it himself, but it did not at all follow that 
he meant to allow any one else to appropriate it. He had 
forfeited all right to control her, but she was his wife, and 
his anger was stirred at the persistent way in which Hugh 
Musgrave dangled at Thea’s side. He hated Musgrave, 
too, no personal animosity, but he had conceived that dis- 
like for him which he felt for any man who had achieved 
notoriety; not a very amiable character perhaps, but a good 
deal commoner than would be credited. Surely we must 
know that carping individual whom neither art nor nature 
can satisfy, whom no theatrical entertainment ever pleased, 
and to whom the most glorious landscape only suggests how 
immeasurably inferior it is to some other view that he has 
seen. 

With what Charley Wrey termed “ Musgrave’s resurrec- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


143 


tion,” there came much gossip about his former life. His 
name was bandied about freely in club smoking-rooms, and 
it was not long before there came to Welstead ’s ears the 
story that his wife had been engaged to Musgrave previous 
to her marriage. We know this was not the case, but there 
is always much inaccuracy concerning love-alfairs, and the 
promulgation of engagements upon insufficient grounds has 
always figured plentifully in the small talk of society. Wel- 
stead never questioned the story; it was no very great mat- 
ter even if she had been. Still under the circumstances it 
was not likely that Welstead would deem that mended the 
situation. From this out he watched his wife’s proceedings 
with jealous eyes. I do not mean for one instant that he 
established any espionage over Thea, but he certainly took 
somewhat more to frequenting society than he had done be- 
fore, and more than once during that season, at large 
crushes where his presence was not likely to attract her at- 
tention, Algernon Welstead took jealous stock of his wife’s 
doings. 

Julia Harwood had conceived a most enthusiastic friend- 
ship for her new acquaintance; she declared that Thea was 
the dearest and cleverest little woman that ever lived. 
“ Not a muff, you know; ask the Bedminster men about 
that, they could hardly see the way she went. And yet you 
must not think that she is 6 horsey.’ Don’t laugh, Val; 
you know very well what I mean. There are some of my 
acquaintance would have never ceased telling the story of 
that triumph with the Bedminster all the season.” 

“ That’s as may be,” replied Valentine Harwood, “ but 
I suppose you know that your new friend gets more and 
more talked about every day.” 

“ That is all Lady Dullingham’s malevolence; it is war 
to the knife between those two, and of course the telling of 
lies about one’s fellow-creatures is wondrous easy. ” 

“ Quite so,” retorted her brother; “ that’s no reason Mrs. 


144 


THE OUTSIDER. 


Welstead should make it so much easier, and apparently 
devote her whole energies to the confirming of old stories, 
and furnishing materials for new.” 

“ Of course I know what you’re alluding to, but it’s all 
nonsense. Thea and Mr. Musgrave are old friends*” 

“ Old lovers,” replied her brother quietly; “let’s call 
things by their right names, Ju, if »we talk about them at 
all. ” 

“ I don’t believe one word of it,” retorted Miss Har- 
wood. “ At all events, I intend to stand by Thea Wel- 
stead. ” 

“ So I see,” replied Valentine, “and I have no doubt 
you will keep your word as long as you can; but, if I am 
not mistaken, the time is not very far distant when you’ll 
find the governor will put a stop to this intimacy.” 

“ Why, you don’t mean to say — ” exclaimed Julia. 

“Yes, I do,” interposed Valentine, sharply. “You 
have your own way a good deal, but you don’t suppose that 
you’ll be allowed to chum with a woman who has been 
dropped by half London.” 

“ It’s infamously cowardly of you to utter such a false- 
hood as that; you know she goes everywhere.” 

“ She does just now, but people are already beginning to 
look shy at her. Before the season’s over you will find my 
words come true. Do be advised, Ju, and drop this sud- 
den intimacy. ” 

“ I should utterly despise myself if I did,” rejoined Miss 
Harwood, and then the young lady swept out of the room 
with — to use a homely expression, “ her nose very much in 
the air. ” 

“ Well, I’m sorry for everybody all round,” muttered 
Valentine to himself, “ but if all one sees and half one hears 
can be believed, it must end in a row. Julia might just as 
well have kept clear of it. She says she couldn’t avoid 
making Mrs. Welstead’s acquaintance, but one can always 


THE OUTSIDER. 


145 


do as one likes about converting acquaintance into friends, 
and gad, as a rule, I believe it’s best to let 'em remain ac- 
qaintance," with which philosophical reflection Valentine 
Harwood followed his sister's example, and also left the 
breakfast-room. 

He was perfectly right, however, in what he had said; 
society was beginning to look a little askance at Mrs. Wel- 
stead. People were growing much colder in their recogni- 
tions, and she undoubtedly was talked about very much 
more than it was good for any woman to be. Lady Dull- 
ingham possessed a considerable amount of influence, and 
moreover she was a most persevering woman. Now a con- 
sistently persevering enemy is always dangerous to have 
against one, but when, as in Thea's case, there are given so 
many openings for gratifying malice, it is likely to go hard 
with the assailed. Lady. Dullingham noted every joint in 
her adversary's harness; not an imprudence did Thea com- 
mit, but it speedily became the talk of the town, and what 
was more, it was always an embroidered version of the real 
story. In short, by the time that “ midsummer was march- 
ing through the sky," Thea began to be spoken of as “ that 
notorious Mrs. Welstead." 

Miss Harwood stood gallantly by her friend, but the fair 
Julia began to comprehend that it was like to cost her dear. 
That little disagreement with Cis Maltby, for instance, has 
by no means been satisfactorily made up. On the contrary, 
since she caught that glimpse of him at Mrs. Petersham's 
ball, it was in vain she made inquiry concerning him. Cis 
Maltby had apparently eschewed London for the season; he 
had been, she knew, at Ascot, and since then she could 
hear nothing of him. He had seemingly shaken the dust 
of the metropolis from his feet, and his clubs knew him no 
more. That bold dragoon, indeed, had in his own vernac- 
ular “ taken himself by the head. " “ It will never do," 

he said, in a burst of self- confession to himself. “I'm 
getting awful spoons on Julia Harwood, and she is unmis- 


U6 


THE OUTSIDER. 


takably about to develop into a fast young lady. Hate fast 
young ladies. Deuced good fun, perhaps, as girls, though 
I don't l^ke 'em myself; but there can't be any mistake 
about it, they won't act as wives. Don't suppose Julia 
Harwood cares a bit about me either. Wouldn't have gone 
in for Mrs. Welstead if she had. No, I'll cut the whole 
concern, stick to my profession, and rub up my racquets; 
economical too, and no doubt I shall find a profitable in- 
vestment for my savings about Doncaster time." 

In pursuance of this doughty resolution, Cis stuck close- 
ly to Aldershot, and at such times as he could be spared 
from his military duties might have been seen arrayed in a 
suit of flannels striving hard to work off his love-fever 
within the walls of the racquet court. But somehow the 
treatment seemed hardly successful, in spite of the most 
vigorous exertions; and though you might criticise his play, 
nobody could have accused Cis of sparing himself. Yet he 
could not get Julia Harwood out of his mind. “ Such a 
nice girl as she was, too," he would mutter reflectively in 
the mornings, while applying the hair-brushes energetical- 
ly to his curly head. “ Now I suppose she is all ruined, 
learned to talk slang, smoke cigars, and indulge in loud 
laughter. Deuced odd, women seem to think we like 'em 
better when they closely imitate us; when they display their 
ignorance by talking turf, or their affectation by pretend- 
ing to be judges of tobacco." 

Now, this was a most unjustifiable verdict on Julia Har- 
wood. He had never known that young lady guilty of to- 
bacco, nor was she in the least given to talking horse; to 
say that she never alluded to hunting or racing would be 
absurd, but there is a very great difference between this 
and making it the leading topic of conversation. It was a 
perfectly gratuitous assumption on Cis Maltby's part that 
Miss Harwood had fallen into these ways under Thea's 
guidance, and instead of launching groundless accusations 
against her in his own mind, it would have been so very 


THE OUTSIDER. 


147 


much easier to have run up to town and see for himself if 
this deterioration in Julia’s character had set in. But then, 
you see, Cis was seriously in love, and, having quarreled with 
the object of his adoration, was not likely to take a reason- 
able view of the situation. 

A young lady can do a good deal toward clearing up a 
misunderstanding with a lover if she can only meet him, 
but it is not quite so easy when she can not get hold of 
him. Of course she can write, but what a girl would find 
very little difficulty in saying by no means comes so easy to 
put upon paper, more especially when, as in Julia’s case, 
the man, though an admirer, has not openly avowed his 
love. In conversation she would have little difficulty in 
making him meet her half-way. She knew too, as every 
woman does know, the powerful auxiliary she would have 
in the personality of her own charms; the vibrating tones 
of a woman’s voice, the quick sparkle of her eye, and the 
ever-changing play of her countenance, are odds in her fa- 
vor that no eloquence on paper can possibly replace. Julia 
was quite aware of this — and then there was no prouder 
girl in all London. It had been so easy to write a line to 
Cis Maltby but a few weeks back, and she would have 
written to him without the slightest hesitation to require 
his presence, whenever it so pleased her, but suddenly all 
this was altered; to pen a few lines to Cis Maltby now 
seemed so difficult; she could think of no particular reason 
for doing so, while before, “ Dear Captain Maltby, do join 
us in this, that, or the other,” or “ We particularly trust 
that you will make one of our party on such and such an 
occasion/’ had appeared to be the most natural thing in 
the world to do. Do not we all know this little kink in the 
social rope- walk? That little awkwardness, which from 
some trivial cause has arisen between ourselves and our 
dear friends the Montmorency Joneses. It makes us un- 
certain whether to shake hands effusively, or to pass by 
with an inane smirk and bow; and if these little difficulties 


148 


THE OUTSIDER. 


occur concerning people about whom we really care noth- 
ing, it can easily be imagined what a state of fuss, fidget, 
and indecision a pair of lovers can get into when a differ- 
ence of opinion mars their billing and cooing. Miss Har- 
wood and Cis Maltby having created their own little storm 
in a tea-cup, were both assiduously working the bellows 
with apparent fear it should subside, and the gentleman, 
at all events, had made up his mind that his happiness de- 
pended on seeing no more of the fair Julia. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“A GREENWICH DICKER.” 

Ie" a room at Greenwich overlooking the river were gath- 
ered together half a dozen old acquaintance of ours, en- 
gaged in the celebration of the “ Feast of St. Mazeppa," 
as Charley Wrey termed it. That ceremony had been go- 
ing on rather extensively ever since the horse's triumph at 
Epsom. When men, completely resigned to the loss of 
their money, suddenly find themselves considerable win- 
ners instead, their hearts are apt to expand to their fellows, 
and the landing of a large stake has always been considered 
excuse for some little conviviality. It was the very evening 
for a dinner of the kind, and the river was looking its best 
in the glories of a setting sun, whose rays now gilded the 
sails of some ship dropping down with the tide, and anon 
lighted up some snorting tug or fussy and shrieking 
steamer. 

Deuced lucky/' said Musgrave, “ to have caught you 
fellows at last. It's always so hard to lay one's hands on 
half a dozen pals at this time of year. As it is, 1 haven't 
caught Cis Maltby; he ^ows he can't get away from Aider- 
shot. Quite like old times, Charley, is it not, dining here? 
and after Brittany cookery one rather appreciates it." 


THE OUTSIDER. 


149 


“ Dare say you do, Hugh. Yes, I like dining at Green- 
wich; it always recalls, not only old, but pleasant times. 

“ ‘ Many an evening by the waters we have watched the passing 
boats, 

As the champagne just bieufrappe gurgled down our parched 
throats.’ ” 

“ By the way, somebody told me,” said Valentine Har- 
wood, “ that Cis had taken seriously to his profession. I 
had almost forgot he had one. ” 

“ Never knew an idle man,” replied the general, “ who 
wasn’t under the impression that nobody else had anything 
to do. Maltby is a very smart soldier, and will do his work 
thoroughly whenever his turn comes. ” 

“ That’s rather cracking up one of your own cockerels, 
general; we haven’t forgotten he was on your staff in In- 
dia. However, I’m quite willing to believe that when it 
comes to plying a saber, Cis will prove to have a strong- 
right arm, and he always does ride remarkably hard.” 

“ By the way, Musgrave,” exclaimed Lord Collington, 
“ have you seen anything of your friend the book-maker?” 

“ I have seen him two or three times since. As I dare 
say you’ve heard he is a man of mark now, has become a 
member of Tattersall’s, and all that. I shouldn’t be sur- 
prised if, before long, that fellow was one of the biggest, 
men in the ring. What do you say, general?” 

“ Nothing, I should think, more likely. I presume he 
hasn’t opened his oracular mouth on the subject of the 
Leger yet, has he?” 

“ No,” replied Hugh, laughing, “ but he gave me a very 
straight tip, for all that, the other day. No, you needn’t 
look so eager, Charley; he simply recommended me to keep 
what I had got, and let betting alone.” 

“ And a very sensible tip, too,” said the general, “ but, 
dear me, life without the cakes and ale is very dull.” 


150 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ A glass of champagne, general, with you,” exclaimed 
Charley Wrey, “ I honor the sentiment. ” 

“ A good race with a bet on it is as cakes and ale to some 
of us,” replied the general, after draining his glass, with a 
pleasant laugh. 

“ And the practice results in leaving you no cakes and 
ale to wind up with , 99 chimed in Dr. Strover, one of the 
cleverest and best known physicians in all London. “ I 
can't say, Musgrave, your friend is very logical. It's like 
giving a man half a dozen pairs of leathers and tops and 
telling him not to hunt. It's like telling a man a pint of 
champagne a day will do him good; he fills in the number 
of times a day it will benefit him for himself. It's not 
many men lay out a sovereign so luckily as you did.” . 

Popular as the doctor was, it was always noticeable that 
there was a flavor of good-humored bitterness about his 
conversation. It had been said of him that he was some- 
thing like a sharp tonic, but if he had something of that in 
society, no one in his profession exhibited more tenderness 
in the consulting-room. 

“ Quite right, doctor,'' rejoined Musgrave. “ Mazeppa 
may be called one of the accidents of the turf. But 
wouldn't you fellows like to smoker Here, waiter, coffee.'' 

“Yes,” observed the general, “and Mr. Sparrow's 
gratitude is another of the accidents of the turf. It's not 
often a man goes so far out of his way to repay a good turn 
as that. I remember when I was quartered in Canada 
years ago, a couple of Englishmen coming along, who said 
they had come out from the old country to seek their fort- 
une. They hadn't got on with it apparently very far, for 
they told me they were dead broke, and asked if I could 
help them in any way. Well, it's a free and easy country 
out there, so I ordered some cold meat and a jug of beer 
for them, and they ate as if they wanted it, and as if it was 
about a month since they had last had a square meal. Well, 
that over, 1 gave them a dollar apiece to help them on their 


THE OUTSIDER. 


151 


road, but as they were leaving the house one of them 
glanced up at the hat-rack, and pointing to two or three 
hats that were hanging there, remarked: 

44 4 Say, governor, pVaps you can spare one of those, as 
my thatch piece is kinder played out/ 

“ 6 My good fellow/ I replied, 4 those hats are unfortu- 
nately in use/ 

“ 6 But you cai/t wear three at a time, governor, and 
may be, if you thought it over, you could spare this one/ 
and the fellow pointed to a new pith sun hat that I had 
just set up. 

46 4 1 have done all I can for you/ I replied, and then his 
companion twitched him by the sleeve and in a hoarse whis- 
per, exclaimed: 

44 4 Gome on, Bill/ and as they walked away the words 
4 stingy beggar * fell pleasantly on my ears!” 

44 What they call an injudicious investment, general /' 9 
said Val Harwood. 

44 Yes, those fellows were a pair of loafers from the 
Southern States, and as the Yanks say themselves, there *s 
nothing more powerfully mean than a 4 mean white / 99 

44 By the way, doctor/* said Lord Collington as the two 
stepped out into the balcony, 44 do you happen to know 
anything of Mr. Stryke?** 

44 What, Stryke of Stryke and Balders, the great City 
financiers? Now which do you happen to mean, old Mr. 
Stryke, or his son, popularly known as Bob Stryke?** 

44 Well, I mean the young one — has he ever consulted 
you professionally?** 

44 It so happens he has/* replied the doctor, 44 but what 
makes you ask?** 

44 Only that I heard just before I left town that he had 
been taken very ill, and the man I heard it from seemed to 
think he*d be terribly missed in the City if he didn*t get 
over it.** 

44 He holds a great many strings/* rejoined the doctor 


152 


THE OUTSIDER. 


gravely. “ Clever man, sir, and I dare say they will have 
some difficulty about unraveling the skein should it drop 
from his hand, and professionally I should be afraid it would 
go hard with him/' 

“ Did you ever hear they advanced money, doctor?" 

“ Yes, I should think on tolerable security no man could 
find you a big sum of money quicker. I hope you’re not 
driven to call upon them in that way?” 

“ No!” rejoined Lord Collington, laughing; “but my 
informant told me Kobert Stryke’s death would perhaps 
cause quite a wail through the West End of London. It 
would probably involve the calling in of all sorts of liabili- 
ties in toto .” 

“ I can easily imagine so,” rejilied Dr. Strover, “ it 
would hit many of our acquaintances in a way that we little 
dream of. By the way, you know Welstead?” 

Lord Collington nodded assent. 

“ There are all sorts of queer reports about him,” con- 
tinued the doctor, “ and apropos of what we are talking 
about, I shouldn’t be surprised if he suffered considerable 
inconvenience in the event of Robert Stryke’s death.” 

“ Nonsense! he is a very wealthy man, and well able to 
take care of himself.” 

“ Being wealthy is a mere question of expenditure, and 
Welstead no doubt is spending a great deal of money. I 
am told that the lady who now presides over his household 
would ruin a Croesus. There’s a rumor, too, that he was 
a heavy loser at Ascot; do you know whether that is true?” 

“ I can’t say,’’ replied Lord Collington, “ I should think 
it very probable. With the exception of our host most of 
the gentlemen had a bad time. Still, Welstead has been 
too long racing to stretch out his hand too far. ” 

“That may be,” rejoined the doctor, “but a woman 
with a perfectly unrestrained passion for spending money 
will ruin any man, and I’m told this Mademoiselle The- 
rese has acquired complete mastery over him.” 


THE OUTSIDER. 


153 


“ I have heard something to that effect/ ’ said Lord Col- 
lington; “ but Fm sure I don’t know/' and he stepped 
back through the window. 

Now it so happened that Welstead’s name had cropped 
up in conversation round the dinner-table; it originated in 
some allusion to his racing policy, which the general con- 
demned in no measured terms; from that to his moral 
character was but a step, and albeit no Puritan, upon that 
also, it pleased the general to be very severe. Welstead 
was no friend of Valentine Harwood’s, indeed the acquaint- 
ance between them was but slight. In reality, as far as he 
knew him, Valentine was disposed to dislike him; but on 
this occasion he thought proper to take up the cudgels in 
Welstead’s behalf. There had been a good deal of wine 
drunk, and as is sometimes the case under such circum- 
stances, this after-dinner discussion got a little heated. 
Valentine was always calmly placid in his demeanor, but 
wine always had a tendency to make him argumentative. 
It is so with some men; after a full quantum of claret they 
are sure to disagree with their neighbors. It doesn’t signi- 
fy what opinions you advance, they are sure to take the op- 
posite. I have seen a thorough-going Conservative turn 
Liberal on such occasions, at the shortest possible notice, 
from no other cause than an uncontrollable desire to 
differ from his fellows. The general waxed hot, all the 
hotter because he was unable to combat the ingenious soph- 
isms with which his cool antagonist glossed over his adopt- 
ed client’s conduct. In a discussion of this nature it was 
hardly possible to refrain from allusion to Welstead’s wife. 
Valentine was a gentleman, and therefore would not bandy 
a lady’s name about to her disparagement before two of 
her friends. It was not likely that he would allude to his 
host’s flirtation with Thea at his own table, but he put for- 
ward a theoretical wife who by her unpleasant qualities 
might justify her husband in any description of iniquity. 

“That won’t do,” retorted the general, “ there is no 


154 


THE OUTSIDER. 


such lady as you describe involved in the case we are dis- 
cussing. ” 

Musgrave’s face was beginning to darken and the con- 
versation bore every likelihood of taking a very unpleasant 
turn had it not been for Charley Wrey’s prompt interven- 
tion. Gripping Valentine’s arm as a hint that he should 
suppress the retort that was rising to his lips, Wrey ex- 
claimed: 

“Upon my life, gentlemen, we are traveling from the 
record; we are going quite back to an elaborate inquiry on 
the fall of man. Bless you, Welstead’s case may be 
summed up in three words — like Topsy, he 4 was born bad.’ 
And now, where’s everybody going after Goodwood?” 

“Veil, you come to us!” exclaimed Valentine, “you 
always do, you know, in September. And I’ll tell you 
what, Hugh, if you’ve nothing better to do, you’d better 
come also. We’ve lots of birds, are within reasonable dis- 
tance of Doncaster, and my people will all be very glad to 
see you.” 

Oil had been poured upon the troubled waters and Mus- 
grave’s cheery “ I’ll put it down, old man,” told that the 
storm had passed away. There are certain scents that re- 
fuse to be disguised, there are certain subjects that refuse 
to be buried. That Welstead’s name should be prohibited 
from conversation had been tacitly agreed, but it was no 
use, it was continually cropping up, and allusions to the 
Welsteads seemed to be the inevitable lot of any one who 
attempted to talk. Algy Welstead was a man on whom 
London society had been for some time accustomed to com- 
ment, but it is probable so many anecdotes were never be- 
fore told concerning him as circulated around the table that 
evening. Valentine Harwood having abandoned his self- 
assumed brief for the defense, there was no jar in the dis- 
cussion, and of a certainty the stories told would have ren- 
dered the task difficult. But all these stories tended to one 
point — to wit — that despite want of principle, and a ruth- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


155 


less indifference to what pain he might inflict on others in 
the pursuit of his own purposes, Algernon Welstead pos- 
sessed both pluck and brains. 

“ The last man in the world,” ejaculated the general, 
“ that I should have suspected of falling under the influ- 
ence of a woman.” 

“ I can't quite say I agree with you, general," rejoined 
Charley Wrey; “ the men who are wont to be most thor- 
oughly masters of women are generally a little tigerish in 
their disposition, they are not really good plucked ones, 
and are haunted by a jealous dread of the woman getting 
the ascendency over them. Welstead is not like that, but 
if he is in fetters at the present moment there's no one 
more likely to burst his chains and rend the woman that 
shackled him.” 

“ Chains of that kind. Master Charley, are not so easily 
thrown aside,” rejoined Lord Collington. “ History, as 
well as our own experience, furnishes us with endless illus- 
trations to that effect. In many cases it is mere habit, and 
habits to an indolent nature are perhaps as difficult bonds 
to shake off as any that ever enthralled us.” 

“ Have some seltzer with a dash of brandy in it, Colling- 
ton," cried the host, gayly. “ Let's leave Welstead and 
his doings alone, while as for saying that women make 
fools of us when they list, which is about the burden of 
your parable, well we all know it, and are none of us hardy 
enough to dispute it.” 

Here further discussion was cut short by the prosaic inti- 
mation. of the waiter that the “ flys " were at the door, 
and that if the gentlemen meant catching the train it was 
quite time they started. And thus terminated Hugh Mus- 
grave's “ Mazeppa '' dinner. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


15G 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“a water party. 99 

“ IIpoet my word, my dear. Pm afraid that this is a sad 
instance of man’s sulkiness. As you say, there is no mak- 
ing it up with a man you can’t get at. But,” continued 
Thea, her eyes dancing with fun, and shaking her pretty 
head in mock meditation, “ oysters are made to come out, 
you know, and this Aldershot hermit must be drawn from 
his seclusion. Just read his note again, Ju.” 

“ He is very sorry, nothing would have given him great- 
er pleasure than to have joined our party up the river, but 
it is quite impossible, they are so short-handed he can not 
possibly get away.” 

“ Oh, the deceit of these soldiers,” said Thea, “they 
never can get away when they don’t want to, and become 
extremely zealous about their military duties whenever it 
suits them to avoid social ones. Let me think,” she con- 
tinued, “he surely can’t be stickling for a formal invita- 
tion from me.” 

“ No,” rejoined Miss Harwood. “ That wouldn’t be at 
all like Captain Maltby; he is coolness itself when he wishes 
to be included in anything,” and Julia reflected that the 
party being formed under Mrs. Welstead’s auspices would 
certainly not be considered an additional attraction 
by Cis. 

She had never ventured to tell Thea that she herself had 
been the occasion of her quarrel with Captain Maltby. Nor 
had she given that gentleman the slightest inkling that Mrs. 
Welstead was one of the leading spirits of this contem- 
plated water-party. She had merely asked Cis to join in 
the party up the ri ver, which, she had assured him, would 


THE OUTSIDER. 


157 


consist of very pleasant peojfie. She had thought that be- 
sides effecting a reconciliation with him herself, if she 
could introduce him to Mrs. Welstead, his prejudices 
against that lady would be dissipated, for there was no de- 
nying that Thea was not only a very pretty, but a very fas- 
cinating woman. Julia's little scheme, however, was not 
destined to be carried out, for Cis in his dudgeon clung 
closely to the arid, dusty common on which his abode was 
fixed. 

“ Well," said Thea, “ if one swallow does not make a 
summer, neither does the loss of one dragoon mar a pic- 
nic. By the way, I don't know, my dear, it does make a 
difference sometimes; but no matter, with or without Cap- 
tain Maltby, we will have our outing. It will be delicious, 
these hot afternoons, and we must find some place where 
we can dine, and perhaps go on the water again in the 
evening. I shall press Mr. Musgrave and Lord Collington 
into my service; they will pick up lots of pleasant men, no 
doubt. We don't want it too big; though, at the same 
time, too small a party for a thing of that kind is a mis- 
take. It must be large enough to break up comfortably 
into fragments." 

“ Would a dozen be enough?" said Julia. 

“ Yes, in the first instance," rejoined Thea, “ but with 
power, be it understood, to add extensively to their num- 
ber. I think if I cared about it, Julia, I should drop an- 
other note to Captain Maltby, and explain to him that his 
duty to his queen must be liberally rendered as duty to her 
sex generally, that the navigation of the Thames is diffi- 
cult, and that if anything happened to you he would never 
know another peaceful moment, and that if ever a man 
was imperatively called upon to man the life* buoy, stand 
by with the life-belt, and all that sort of thing, in case of 
accident, it was he. The only subterfuge left him then 
would be some miserable jest about not being a naval 
officer." 


158 


THE OUTSIDER. 


Miss Harwood declared slie should follow her friend’s ad- 
vice, but knew very well she intended to do nothing of the 
kind. Julia, indeed, was very indignant at Cis’s rather 
laconic refusal of her invitation. He had been wont to 
jump at any such summons from her hand, and, as Charley 
Wrey said, “delighted in accompanying the other corpses 
to Woking,” which, being interpreted, meaneth — after a 
night’s revelry in London, returning by that early train 
which conveyeth its inanimate freight to Wo king Cemetery. 
No; she had held out the olive-branch, and it had been re- 
jected. Captain Maltby might remain at Aldershot until 
he had recovered his temper; if he preferred that hot dusty 
plain, and such dust (she had attended an Aldershot field-, 
day, and so gotten experience of that article), to the cool 
rippling river, with its banks clothed in all their summer 
splendor, well and good. She only hoped there might be a 
field-day on that day, and plenty of wind, so that the 
troops generally, and Cis Maltby in particular, might re- 
turn to their barracks with faces black as chimney-sweep- 
ers and streaming eyes, from which it would take the 
whole of the afternoon to clear the dust. But in spite of 
all this, Julia was not a little disconcerted at the breach 
between her and Cis. As she had said, it is difficult to put 
this sort of thing straight, when you can not “ get at a 
man. ” Still, Miss Harwood had little reason to fear but 
what that would come about again. Maltby was too con- 
stant a guest at Holton Manor not to be tolerably sure to 
turn up there in the autumn, and if a man is not to be 
tamed and subjugated in a country-house, then his subju- 
gation may be regarded as beyond the power of the would- 
be enslaver. 

But there was another thing that was making Julia 
somewhat uncomfortable; in her enthusiastic friendship 
she had asked Thea to come and spend a fortnight at Hol- 
ton Manor in the autumn. She had always been allowed a 
good deal of latitude in giving such invitations, but she was 


THE OUTSIDER. 


159 


conscious now that there would probably be grave disap- 
probation expressed concerning this one. Valentine had 
plainly told her that he should strongly oppose it, and she 
felt unpleasantly certain that her father would side with 
her brother upon this point. It was very awkward, for 
Thea often alluded to it and displayed considerable interest 
concerning the old place. Miss Harwood was not aware 
that her brother had asked Musgrave to pay Holton a visit 
in the autumn, or she would have deemed it more awkward 
still, and she was quite enough disconcerted at the state of 
affairs as they were without this additional complication. 

“ Let me see,” observed Mrs. Welstead, “ there is Mrs. 
Hyberry Barnes and her two daughters, the Goldsmiths, 
the Wrexham girls; and then for men there will be Mr. 
Musgrave, Lord Collington, Mr. Wrey, if we can catch 
him — yes, and we will give those three recruiting orders. 
That will make a very pretty nucleus to begin with: it will 
all do very well. What shall we say, this day week? We'll 
call it rather an impromptu affair, those sort of parties al- 
ways go best. ” And so it is finally settled between the 
high contracting powers that a water picnic up the river 
they would have in the ensuing week, and that if the Hy- 
berry Barneses, Wrexhams, etc., could not come, substi- 
tutes must be found for them. 

The efforts of the two ladies were crowned with success, 
and the ensuing week saw about a score of Mrs. Welstead^s 
friends gathered together at the Victoria Station, bound for 
Richmond. Pleasant enough people, no doubt, but had 
Lady Dullingham been there to see, she would probably 
have pronounced them by no means worthy of the entree of 
Dullingham House; there was no doubt about it, both the 
men and the women all belonged to a very fast section of 
society. Thea, indeed, in spite of the high hand with 
which she carried matters when talking to Miss Harwood, 
had encountered two or three rebuffs in the formation of 
her party, especially from her own sex. Several of her 


160 


THE OUTSIDER. 


friends pleaded previous engagements, and though at this 
time of the season that was to be expected, yet in more than 
one instance, Mrs. Welstead had good reason to think that 
“ previous engagement 99 was a mere conventional excuse. 
The Wrexhams were there — lively, amusing girls; of that 
sort very popular with young men who are wont to describe 
the objects of their admiration as 44 up to anything, you 
know;” in fact, the ladies of the party generally had all 
rather a tendency that way. With her men Thea also had 
not been very successful; both Lord Collington and Charley 
Wrey had failed her, but Mr. Musgrave had proved a very 
tower of strength, and speedily pressed a few of his own 
friends into the service. It had been arranged that they 
should go down to Richmond by rail, then betake them- 
selves to boats, dine, and return to London when it seemed 
good to them afterward. 

On arrival at Richmond, after ordering dinner, the next 
thing obviously was for those desirous of going on the water 
to break up into little parties, to distribute themselves 
amongst the boats. Mrs. Welstead having selected a 
tolerably roomy wherry, laughingly announced that she in- 
tended to hoist her flag, and inquired who meant to sail 
with the commodore. 64 Mr. Musgrave, I appoint you my 
lieutenant,” and in another moment Thea, accompanied 
by one of the Miss Wrexhams, was proceeding leisurely up 
the river, rowed by Hugh Musgrave and one of his friends. 
The majority of the party were soon afloat. Now it so 
happened that Miss Harwood had no intimate acquaintance 
amongst the men; those she expected had failed them, and 
of those present she had but slight knowledge. However, 
it was little likely that a handsome girl like Julia Harwood 
would be left out in the cold on such an occasion, and 
young Talbot of the Guards was alert to seize upon this op- 
portunity of improving his acquaintance with her. 

44 Trust yourself with me, Miss Harwood, here is a capi- 
tal boat. I assure you, I am a very tidy waterman. Pair 


THE OUTSIDER. 


1G1 


of sculls, miss,” lie continued, touching his straw hat in 
theatrical nautical fashion. 

“ * Oh, surely you’ve heard of a jolly young waterman, 

Who round about Skindles was wont for to ply; 

How he feathered his oars both so slowly and clumsily, 

As to draw loud guffaws from each passer-bv/ 

** It's all right. Miss Harwood. I was in the Eton 
eight,” and so saying, he placed Julia in the skiff, and 
stepping in after her took up the sculls and shot his boat 
out into midstream. Julia found her cavalier very pleas- 
ant; he was a young fellow who had gone from the sixth 
form at Eton into the brigade; life to him at present was 
all roses, his career was even as yet unshadowed by the 
dim, for his liabilities were light, and he still a minor. 

“ Awfully jolly, this, Miss Harwood,” he exclaimed, as 
he laughingly shot by Mrs. Welsfcead's boat. “ Pll take 
you to the prettiest nook on the river, and show you what 
I call my sanctuary.” 

And pray what do you require a sanctuary for?” asked 

•Julia. 

Well, principally- 1 think for a quiet smoke; you see, 
our fellows are always larking on the river, and we don't 
think much of upsetting each other, and one gets tired of 
it all sometimes, and wants a quiet smoke and think.” 

“ What do you think about?” inquired Julia. 

Well, I don't know exactly; about what Pll do next, 
perhaps, as much as anything. Not that Pm ever hard up 
for something to do; I can't understand that. The only 
thing I really never seem to have time to do, is to go to 
bed. ” 

That must be quite your own fault,” replied Miss 
Harwood, laughing; “ you may be wanted early in the 
morning, but you can surely, go to bed at what time you 
like.” 

Wanted early!” exclaimed young Talbot; “ why they 
6 


162 


THE OUTSIDER. 


have us out of our beds soon after six these summer morn- 
ings, and as for going to bed, how's a fellow who is as fond 
of dancing as I am to do that during the season? But here 
you are, Miss Harwood; just look at this nook; this is my 
sanctuary: you must step out and see it." 

Satan is credited with always providing mischief for idle 
hands to do, but it is needless for his sable majesty to con- 
cern himself about boys, those incarnations of mischief can 
always provide for themselves without his assistance* 
Lurking beneath the shade of the alders were two most 
precious specimens of nascent humanity. With longing 
eyes they had for some time looked out from their lair on 
the rippling water. With envious eyes they had watched 
boat and shallop go by; marked the glittering spray that 
flew from the splashing oars, and the swirl of the stream 
that they left behind them. How deliciously cool it all 
looked, and what a taste of Paradise it must be to skim 
atop of the glittering river. Two ragged, precocious, 
sturdy imps were these two loiterers by the banks of the 
silent highway, not troubled with very definite ideas on the 
subject of property, and apt to snatch eagerly at such few 
pleasures as might fall within their grasp. They were chil- 
dren of the river-side to whom a boat offered irresistible at- 
traction, but the use of skiffs seldom came within their 
compass. They were hangers-on of these sort of water 
parties, willing to make themselves useful if opportunity 
served, but in any case importunate in their demand for 
half-pence. The temptation was irresistible; “ a swell and 
his young woman " they argued would be in no hurry to 
return, they would be sure to stroll about for some time — 
and these striplings were cunning and had experience in 
such matters — they would have plenty of time for a short 
paddle without being detected, and could always make 
some excuse about the boat having got adrift if caught red- 
handed. Any way they were a couple of devil-may-care 
young gentlemen, quite willing to chance the consequences 


THE OUTSIDER. 


163 


of a lark. These young persons were prompt of decision, 
and Mr. Talbot and his fair charge were barely out of sight 
when they jumped into the boat, and pushed off into the 
stream. 

After a short stroll, Miss Harwood and her cavalier re- 
turned in search of their skiff; it was nowhere to be seen, 
for the abductors of the boat possessed more daring than 
rivercraf t. Having got into the stream, they went pretty 
much where the stream took them, and on attempting to 
turn back discovered that it was easier to go with it than 
to pull against it, and further that there was some appren- 
ticeship required for using a pair of sculls. They speedily 
came to the conclusion that even should they succeed in 
taking the boat back to the place from which they had 
stolen it, it would only be to meet the wrath of the pro- 
prietor, and that therefore they had better drop down the 
stream and run their boat ashore, and abandon it on the 
first eligible opportunity. 

At first Julia was only amused at the mishap, but she 
perceived that, after scanning the river for some time, her 
companion's face got not a little perturbed. 

“ This is an awful sell, Miss Harwood," he said at last. 
“ Upon my word I don't quite know what we are to do. 
They have stolen our boat, you see. I am puzzled how I 
am to get you back." 

“ Well," replied Julia, “ I suppose there is nothing for 
It but to walk." 

That's just it," replied Talbot, gravely, “ but you see 
we are something like three miles from the trysting-place, 
and what's more the path happens to be on the other side 
of the river. It will not only be a cross-country excursion, 
but we shall have to make, I am afraid, several detours — 
some of these villas running down to the water have en- 
trenched themselves within fences impracticable for a lady. 
However, don't be dismayed. Miss Harwood, where there's 


164 


THE OUTSIDER. 


a villa there must be a road; there must be communication 
for the butcher and baker, you know. I shall pick up in- 
formation, and perhaps a trap if we’re lucky.” 

“ Don’t get alarmed about me, Mr. Talbot, I’m very a 
good walker, and not in the least tired to begin with. ” 

Miss Harwood thought it best to put a good face upon 
it, but in reality she was not a little disconcerted, and felt 
half inclined to scold her cavalier for not having looked 
more carefully to the safety of his boat. It was quite 
obvious that there were some few awkward fences to 
scramble over before they reached the road; once there, 
and their reaching the hotel at which they were to dine 
was only a matter of a reasonable walk. But it would 
make considerable difference as regarded time; it would be 
impossible to travel on their own feet anything like as 
quickly as they would have done in the skiff. Julia was 
not much daunted at the idea of climbing over fences when 
she was at Holton Manor. She was accustomed to walk a 
bit with the guns in the shooting season, but then she was 
dressed for doing so, and, as every lady knows, there is a 
very great deal in that little matter of “ dressed for the 
occasion.” To-day she was got up in gossamer garments 
and smart shoes, instead of the stout, serviceable bottines of 
the country. Mr. Talbot did his best in breaking down 
the fences for her, but she was conscious of more than one 
rent in her draperies, and that the briers had left pitiless 
scars across her shoes. 

“ You’re very good, Mr. Talbot,” she exclaimed, “ but 
I know I’m in a dreadful pickle. I am sure I have left 
fragments of my dress upon every hedge; while as for my 
shoes, I can only pray they will hold together till we get 
back to Skindles.” 

“ Hurrah! Here’s the road, Miss Harwood, and agate 
into it. ” But the next moment an ejaculation of disap- 
pointment escaped hirn. “Locked,” lie said. “And 
worse still, they have turned down the hinge so that I can 


THE OUTSIDER. 


165 


not lift it. I'm afraid there's nothing for it but to climb; 
it's easier than working through the fence." 

There was nothing for it but to do as Mr. Talbot sug- 
gested, and reflecting that even if it led to a liberal display 
of ankles she at all events had no cause to be ashamed of 
them, she bravely climbed the gate, but in getting down 
the other side her foot slipped, and had not Talbot prompt- 
ly caught her, she must have fallen to the ground. As it 
was there was no harm done, further than that she had 
slightly wrenched her foot. 

“ I am afraid you are hurt," said Talbot, noticing that 
she limped a little as they set out on their walk. 

“Not at all," she replied. “ Let's push forward as 
quickly as we can." But as they traveled on Julia began 
to feel her foot somewhat painful, and before they reached 
the hotel Miss Harwood was walking very lame indeed. 

“Here come the truants at last," exclaimed Mrs. Wel- 
stead as the pair walked into the room,. “ and now let us 
have dinner straight away. Mr. Talbot, your speeches no 
doubt have been very pretty, but you have taken as long to 
say your say as a member of Parliament. But," continued 
Tliea, as she caught sight of the rather pained expression 
on her friend's face, “ what has happened to you?" 

“ We lost our boat, and so had to walk back, and I've 
torn my dress all to pieces and wrenched my ankle." 

“ Come upstairs," said Thea, “ and I'll see that a cham- 
ber-maid puts you properly to rights; in the meantime, 
good people, don't wait dinner for us, but begin as soon as 
you can get it. Mr. Talbot, I shall leave you to satisfy all 
curiosity, and tell the tale of your adventures." 

When the two ladies reappeared Miss Harwood walked 
very lame indeed, and was in evident pain; they had her 
dinner brought to her on the sofa, and Julia fought very 
pluckily against the pain she was suffering, and was soon 
quite herself again, and laughing at her misadventure. 
The remainder of the evening passed off very pleasantly. 


166 


THE OUTSIDER. 


Mr. Talbot was mercilessly chaffed about the loss of his 
boat, more than one of the party professing profound dis- 
belief in his story, and saying that the abduction of the 
skiff was planned in malice prepense , that these Guards- 
men who passed so much of their time down at Skindles 
were subtle in their ways, and capable of all manner of 
iniquity for the procuring of tete-a-tetes, that they were the 
very serpents of water-parties, etc., etc. 

Now what came directly out of Mrs. Welstead's picnic 
was this, that it was much talked about. “ There were 
pretty goings-on I'm told," was the cry of some of those 
matrons who sit in inexorable judgment on our manners 
and morals. “ Water picnic! It should have been called 
Mrs. Welstead's ‘ flirtation party;' while as for Miss Har- 
wood who is always about with her, she disappeared with 
young Talbot of the Guards for the whole afternoon. 
They had to send people out in search of them. I am so 
thankful my girls were not present at such an affair." 

That some such garbled version as this would before 
long reach Cis Maltby's ears was quite certain, and would 
go still further to convince him that her intimacy with 
Mrs. Welstead was exercising a most deteriorating effect on 
J ulia. 


CHAPTER XX. 

“an unexpected visitor." 

Dr. Strover proved a true prophet; it not only went hard 
w r ith Robert Stryke, but so hard that he made an end of 
it; and then as the doctor had further predicted, there 
came troublesome times upon Stryke & Co. It was not 
one of those great financial catastrophes which scatter ruin 
around them, and bring poverty upon many a household; 
it was no tumbling to pieces of one of those great card- 
houses which bring many other equally unsubstantially 


THE OUTSIDER. 


167 


built businesses to the ground with them. It was simply 
this — the young, shrewd, dashing partner of the house, the 
very mainspring of the firm, was gone, and there was no- 
body with nerve, sagacity, and energy to grasp the reins 
which had fallen from the dead man^s hands. The bold 
fianacial schemes which Eobert Stryke had embarked in 
were beyond the comprehension of the elder members of 
the firm. They were men grown cautious with age, lack- 
ing both the daring and long head of the younger partner. 
They drew in their horns, and the immediate retirement 
from many of their speculations was only to be obtained by 
a monetary sacrifice. They got fussy and nervous, they 
feared a bankruptcy that was by no means impending, and 
in their dismay gathered together their more available re- 
sources. This meant the rapid calling in of various mort- 
gages and other lent moneys which, as Dr. Strover had 
foreseen, caused no little disturbance in West End circles. 
Amongst others who were considerably inconvenienced by 
the death of Mr. Eobert Stryke was Algernon Welstead. 

Things had been going rather hard with Mr. Welstead 
lately; he had for one thing encountered a persistent run 
of bad luck, both on the turf and at the card-table, and 
had been driven for temporary accommodation to Messrs. 
Stryke & Co. But the chief cause of his difficulties was 
the uncontrollable extravagance of Mile. Therese; there 
seemed to be no satisfying the caprices of the Frenchwom- 
an, and stormy as the battles that constantly raged be- 
tween them on this subject were, the handsome shrew usu- 
ally carried her point in the end. Welstead was very far 
from being a ruined man, but he was undoubtedly at the 
present moment much squeezed for ready money, and 
again and again he vowed that he would break off all con- 
nection with Mile. Therese; but that was easier said than 
done. Whenever a retiring pension was suggested to her, 
mademoiselle raved, wept; she had sacrificed herself for 
him, would he break her heart — him whom she loved bet- 


168 


THE OUTSIDER. 


ter than lier life: She who would die for him, did he 
think that money could be any compensation for the devo- 
tion she had given him? No, nothing could separate her 
from her adored Algernon; she lived only for his love, if 
she had lost that, there was an end of all happiness for her 
in this world. Still, she might be allowed the solace of 
seeing him occasionally, of watching over him, of manag- 
ing his household, of protecting him from the harpies who 
would otherwise prey upon him— and then mademoiselle 
would apparently become the prey of a fit of uncontrolla- 
ble passion, in which every term of abuse in her vocabulary, 
and it was copious, was hurled at her lover’s head. A tor- 
rent of words, in which ingrat , sceUrat , and other like 
terms predominated; the end of which scenes was that 
mademoiselle wrung from him the check she had desired, 
and that her carriages and dresses were the talk of the 
town. 

Mile. Therese was in the meridian of her splendor, she 
was reveling in all the display and luxury her soul loved; 
she would laugh softly and wickedly to herself at times, 
and murmur, “ I hold this Englishman in the hollow of 
my hand, he is plastic as clay, I do with him what I will, 
pouf!” But there is a Nemesis on the track of Mile. 
Therese — if she domineers over Welstead there is a nature 
cruel, hard, and merciless as her own, armed with the right 
to domineer over her, and little likely to see her clothed in 
silks and laces without sharing in her prosperity. Yes, 
those perfectly appointed equipages, those faultless toilets, 
her very good looks even, have their drawbacks — they do 
what they are designed to do, they attract much attention 
in the park; but then supposing that there exists in this 
world a person whose attention you would fain avoid? To 
be notorious in London is to be notorious everywhere. 

One afternoon, as Mile. Therese ’s carriage paced slowly 
down the drive, a sallow, dark-eyed foreigner, with a well- 
waxed black mustache, raised his hat, not to the carriage, 


THE OUTSIDER. 


169 


but to a man who, like himself, was lounging over the rails, 
and inquired the name of “ ze lovely lady in zat equipage 
superbe. ” The gentleman addressed, who happened to be 
no other than our friend Charley Wrey, at once put him in 
possession of all the information he required, and then 
with a “ Merci y monsieur ,” and another flourish of his hat, 
the foreigner with the well-waxed mustache strolled slowly 
onward. 

Mile. Therese was sitting alone in her drawing-room one 
afternoon, when the servant entered, and, as he handed a 
salver with a note on it, said: 

“ The gentleman who brought it is waiting below and 
wishes to know if he can see mademoiselle.” 

Mile. Therese glanced for a moment at the note, and as 
she did so her countenance changed and a slight exclama- 
tion of dismay escaped her lips. She tore it hastily open, 
hesitated for a few seconds, and then said: 

“ Yes, I will see him; show the gentleman up.” An- 
other minute or two and that sallow-faced foreigner of the 
park entered the room and bowed low to its occupant. 
She waited till the door had closed, and then said, haughti- 
ly: “ What do you here? "What do you mean by this in- 
trusion; have you forgotten our compact?” 

“Not in the least,” replied the stranger. “ It was an 
understood thing that each was to go one’s own way, and 
do the best one could for one’s self.” 

“ Then why do you break your agreement?” 

“ Really, Therese, I should have thought you knew me 
better,” and so saying the sallow-faced gentleman seated 
himself in a comfortable lounging-ehair. . “ You couldn’t 
suppose,” he continued, “ that I entered into such a con- 
tract without a reservation. We separated at your sugges- 
tion because we were too miserably poor to live together; 
but there are always possibilities for a pretty woman, and 
I certainly reserve to myself the privilege of sharing your 
prosperity, ” 

JV 


170 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ Coward! Traitor!” cried the Frenchwoman. “ You 
married me under false pretenses. " 

“ The falsest of pretenses, ma chere , on both sides. I 
believed you rich, you believed me wealthy, it was a case 
of diamond cut diamond. Before six months were over, 
each knew that the other was a mere adventurer. Wolves 
don't prey upon wolves, and we agreed that our chances 
of preying upon society would be better if we each took 
our own course." 

“ But what do you come here for? What is it you want? 
Is it money?" 

“ You have grown brutally brusque, Therese; I suppose 
it is living amongst these pig-headed islanders. You have 
succeeded, I have failed. Your great anxiety has naturally 
been to discover my whereabouts. Your first impulse upon 
obtaining command of money would naturally be to share 
it with me." 

“ And supposing I refuse?” said Therese, “ supposing I 
order my servants to put you out of the house, and never 
permit of your crossing the threshold again ?" 

“ Bah! What is the use of puerile suppositions? It is 
mere waste of time; you know you will do what I want, 
that is, fill up my impoverished purse." 

“ And supposing I refuse?" 

“ Again I say, what is the use of these idle suppositions? 
It will be time to consider what I shall do when such an 
improbability occurs. But," he continued, dropping his 
mocking tone, “you may rely upon it, Madame Duprat, 
I shall know how to exert my legal authority if I find it 
necessary. " 

The veriest virago usually has her master, and violent- 
tempered as she was, Therese had a positive fear of her 
husband; though they had lived together but six months, 
she knew his cold-blooded, ruthless nature only too well. 
His description of their marriage had been perfectly cor- 
rect, and upon discovering that she had neither family r ~ 


THE OUTSIDER. 


171 


money out of which he might have made capital, he had 
cast her off with no more concern than he would a pair of 
soiled gloves. Utterly selfish and depraved, his sole 
thought was to share in the splendors of her infamy. In- 
capable of affection, his only aim was to indulge his luxuri- 
ous desires without the necessity of working for the means 
to defray them. 

“ It shall be as you wish,” replied Mile. Therese* 
cc One question only. How did you discover me?” 

“ Madame's exquisite taste and beauty have made her 
the talk of London. What is the talk of London in that 
way is also the talk of Paris. Yours is a face one does not 
forget, and a few weeks ago a mutual friend of ours who 
had been in London — you remember Jacques Bassurge — 
told me that in the Mademoiselle Therese, about whom les 
Anglais rave, he had recognized his old friend who had 
left the Magasin of Les Deux Etoiles , as he then under- 
stood, to make a wealthy marriage, but whom he shortly 
afterward came to know as Madame Duprat. But now to 
business. How much money can you let me have?” 

“ Some thirty pounds or so; will that do?” 

“ For the next few days, of course. You meanwhile 
will procure me that thousand pounds of which I stand in 
such pressing need?” 

“ Impossible! I can not lay my hands upon any such 
sum.” 

“ Oh, yes you can,” replied Duprat, rising. “ Get me 
the notes you talk of, and I will give you one week to ob- 
tain the other. If you do not find it in that time, ah! then 
— well, as I said before, what is the use of supposing things 
that will not happen?” 

“I tell you it is impossible,” said Therese, “ and if I 
find it so what then?” 

Well, I shall have to ascertain if Mr. Welstead is not 
of a more generous disposition than his mistress. ” 

Mile. Therese made no reply, but left the room for a 


172 


THE OUTSIDER. 


moment, and on her return placed three ten-pound notes 
on the table. 

“ It is all I can do to-day,” she said, “ for the rest — ” 
and here she shrugged her shoulders — “you have de- 
manded the impossible; but, as you have said, there’s no 
use discussing this now. You are good enough to give me 
a week, you will then have your final answer; and now, 
monsieur, perhaps you will be good enough to go.” 

“ Not a very affectionate greeting after so long an ab- 
sence,” rejoined Duprajt, as he slipped the bank-notes into 
his waistcoat pocket. “ But one can excuse sentiment 
when such practical relief to one’s necessities is afforded as 
this,” and significantly touching the pocket which con- 
tained the notes, he bowed low to his wife and left the 
room. 

As he leisurely descended the stairs he glanced round ap- 
provingly at all the evidences of wealth collected within the 
mansion. He had motioned to Mile. Therese not to ring 
the bell for the servant to show him out, and, taking ad- 
vantage of this circumstance, he ventured to peep into the 
dining-room, which was on the ground-floor, on his way to 
the door. Some massive plate on the sideboard, and 
several valuable ornaments about the room, evidently 
elicited his warmest approbation. 

“ Sapristi /” he exclaimed. 4 4 Therese is a clever wom- 
an; she has done well, and this English fathead who has 
usurped my place seems to be a |;>igeon worth plucking. I 
think I shall enjoy myself extremely during my stay in 
London.” And with that, M. Duprat let himself out into 
the street, and walked jauntily down Portland Place. 

Therese remained like one spell-bound after her hus- 
band’s departure. How bitterly she regretted her ill- 
starred marriage! She was little to be pitied; taking ad- 
vantage of a small legacy left her by an aunt, she had 
thrown up her situation in Paris, and speculating on her 
good looks, had gone down to try her fortune at a fasliiona- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


173 


ble watering-place. She had intended the capture of a 
wealthy husband, and the result had been M. Duprat. 
They were both too clever; neither would have been im- 
posed upon except by a very superior artist, but that was 
where it was, they were both artistes of the ; premiere force . 
She had thought herself rid of him forever — ah! fool that 
she was, she might have known that if ever in this world 
she had anything worth sharing, Gustave Duprat would 
turn up to demand his share of it. What was she to do: 
She could not ask Welstead for such a sum as Duprat de- 
manded. •Already their quarrels about money matters were 
constant. She liked him as well, perhaps, as it was in her 
nature to like anybody. As for any deeper affection, that 
was not in her nature, but like a true Frenchwoman of her 
type, although lavishing money with a prodigal hand, she 
was vstill anxious to put by something for a rainy day. The 
appearance of her husband upon the scene threatened 
effectually to put an end to all that. He would take very 
good care that all superfluous moneys she could lay her 
hands on found their way into his pocket. As minor 
marauders cower in the presence of the pirate king, as the 
petty buccaneer might shrink in the presence of Captain 
Kidd, so Therese stood perfectly appalled at the appear- 
ance of her husband. A little while back, and she thought 
she might have depended upon her hold upon Welstead to 
persuade him to grant her some such sum of money as this 
without further inquiry, but she v r as vaguely conscious that 
that hold had somewhat relaxed of late, and extremely anx- 
ious to afford him no such opportunity for a rupture as 
this appearance of her husband might present. What was 
she to do: At all events she had a week’s respite— a week 
in which to decide, and Therese’s keen brain was already 
battling out the question as to what course it behooved her 
to take. If she could obtain so large a sum of money 
from Welstead, would it not be better for her to fly with it 
at once than to undergo the black-mailing and persecution 


174 


THE OUTSIDER. 


to which her husband would subject her, and which a little 
later would probably put an end to things as they were at 
present? 


CHAPTER XXL 

66 MRS. DESMOND SPEAKS OUT.” 

It is not often that feast or revel comes off satisfactorily 
to the givers thereof, and neither Thea nor Julia Harwood 
could look back upon their w T ater-picnic as a success. As 
far as J ulia was concerned, it had been a lamentable fail- 
ure; not only had the one person who alone Would have 
made that entertainment interesting to her most steadily 
declined to join it, but the wrench that she had given her 
foot had confined her entirely to the sofa. The walk that 
she had been compelled to take had brought on inflamma- 
tion, and the doctors prescribed absolute rest. Thea, too, 
was conscious that the whole affair had been a mistake. It 
behooved her to pick her steps decorously and sedately, and 
she knew that lately she had been acting with the greatest 
importance, and an unlucky mot of Charley TVrey's which 
got about and came to the ears of Lady Dullingham, also 
did her no good. 

The picnic was being discussed at some dinner at which 
Charley was present, and he was appealed to for particulars 
concerning it. 

“ You were there, Mr. Wrey, were you not? Oh, do tell 
us all about it,” cried his hostess. 

4 

“ Xo, I was unluckily unable to be present, but I hear it; 
was a great success, and that everybody was there who 
ought not to have been.” 

Lady Dullingham not only promulgated the epigram far 
and wide, but further indorsed it as far as practicable; in 
fact, Thea's luckless party was much more talked about 
than so small an affair usually is. 

Thea, to say the truth, already repented that it had ever 


THE OUTSIDER. 


175 


entered her head to start this picnic; it had been conceived 
in a spirit of reckless bravado. In her bitter resentment 
at having been harshly judged by the world she resolved to 
defy that world's opinion. Above all, she would not be 
dictated to by the opinion of Lady Dullingham, and the 
malice- mongers who followed her lead. She would do 
what seemed right in her own eyes, and go her own way, 
whether people approved it or not. It was foolish, of 
course; no woman can afford to disregard society's opinion, 
and Thea was quick to become painfully conscious of that 
fact. At the commencement of the season she had held 
her own gallantly, but now, thanks principally to her own 
imprudence, the battle was going against her, and she was 
experiencing what it is having joints in your armor to shock 
the susceptibilities of Mrs. Grundy. That picnic, partly 
by accident and partly by design, had been composed of 
people at whom 4 c heavy respectability" looked askance; 
not for the faux pas they had committed, but for those 
they might be expected to commit; it afforded at all events 
an excellent handle for her enemies to preach their parable 
upon. 

She was sitting in her drawing-room a couple of days 
afterward, and thinking how very foolish she had been, 
when she was still further discomposed by a remark of Mrs. 
Desmond's. 

“ You must forgive my speaking, my dear Thea, but I 
really must point out that it is great imprudence on your 
part to allow Mr. Musgrave to call here as often as he does. 
Don't think I want to be censorious, but in your situation 
you need to be peculiarly discreet in your conduct; and 
really, you know, he not only comes here every day, but 
pays most interminable visits." 

“ Don't disturb yourself, auntie; I can take very good 
care of myself, believe me." 

“I don't doubt that," rejoined Mrs. Desmond, “but 
you can't prevent people talking; and though I don't pre- 


176 


THE OUTSIDER. 


tend to know the particulars, I certainly do know that Mr. 
Musgrave is supposed to be an old admirer of yours.” 

“ You surely don't expect me," rejoined Thea, saucily, 
“ to close my doors to all my old admirers. I'm vain 
enough to think that that would involve a most marvelous 
curtailment of my visiting list." 

“ That's rather an evasion of the question," rejoined 
Mrs. Desmond. “ You know very well what I mean. 
You know I'm not given to preach, Thea, but when I hon- 
estly think you want a word of warning, I shall give it. I 
have pointed out that I think you are very foolish to per- 
mit Mr. Musgrave to call here so often, and now there's an 
end of the subject. " 

Mrs. Desmond was a thoroughly honest and conscientious 
person. In her heart she thought Hugh Musgrave 's con- 
stant visits were a thing that in common prudence required 
putting an immediate stop to. The good lady was as 
sharp-sighted as most people. She was, of course, present 
at some of these afternoon calls, and she had not failed to 
observe that the flirtation between the pair was very far 
from being of the butterfly type. If she could have been 
interrogated on the subject she would probably have re- 
plied, bluntly: “I never saw two people more downright 
in love in my life." And further, would have added: 
“ That unless some one had power to check Thea in her 
willfulness, she very much feared there were sad days in 
store for her." On one point only was the relict of that 
distinguished officer who had fallen a victim — well, let us 
say to the climatic influences of a distant land, mistaken, 
namely, that there was an end of the subject. 

“I don't see it. I won't admit it, auntie," rejoined 
Thea, hotty. “Because I was unfortunate in my mar- 
riage, and am unable to live with my husband, everybody 
seems to.think that they have a right to be down upon me 
on all occasions, to read me little homilies, to point oufc to 
me, not what I should do, but what I should not do — to 


THE OUTSIDER. 


177 


treat me as a child. I! a woman in her twenty-fourth 
year. ” 

“My dear. I have no wish to do that / 9 replied Mrs. 
Desmond. “ If I have ventured a little bit of advice there 
is an end of it . 99 

“ But I tell you there is no end to it 99 exclaimed Thea, 
passionately. “ Somebody or other is always hinting, or 
advising, or — 99 

Here the door opened, and the servant announced “ Mr. 
Musgrave.” 

Quickly as Thea recovered herself, and cordially as she 
welcomed him, Hugh's keen eye detected signs of a domes- 
tic disturbance. Mrs. Desmond’s unusually stiff greeting 
also warned him that something had gone wrong. How- 
ever, he dropped into his accustomed chair, and began to 
talk about the chit-chat of the day as usual. Then there 
were inquiries after Miss Harwood’s foot, and finally Mrs. 
Welstead asked what lie meant doing with himself at the 
end of the month when the season should be over, and the 
London world scattered at the sea* side, in foreign parts, or 
amongst country houses. 

“'Well, I am a little undecided at present,” replied 

Hugh. 

“ Goodwood, of course, you will attend?” rejoined Thea. 
“ I only hope your good fortune will still follow you. ” 

“ No,” he said. “ I have no intention of going there or 
of tempting my luck further. I have had a most wonder- 
ful turn since I crossed the water, and it’s only when you 
are as hard up as I was that you thoroughly appreciate 
such a turn of the tide. I have won bigger stakes before, 
but they were by no means of the same consequence to 
me.” 

“ And have, I am afraid, lost bigger ones also,” rejoined 
Thea, softly. 

“ Well, we won’t touch upon past follies. At all events. 


178 


THE OUTSIDER. 


I have done with the lottery of racing, and am thankful 
for a good run of luck to finish with. - ” 

“ You would be wiser if you stood by that resolution, 
Mr. Musgrave,” said Mrs. Desmond. “ 1 am afraid very 
few of you do. You will excuse me, but I have a couple 
of letters I must write / 9 and so saying, Mrs. Desmond left 
the room. 

“ What is the matter, Thea?” asked Hugh, as the door 
closed; “ you are not yourself to-day. Something has oc- 
curred to vex you . 99 

“ Vex!” she cried, bitterly. “ I am weary of this strug- 
gle with the world. I hate the sight of these women whose 
sole object seems to be the saying of spiteful things con- 
cerning me. They comment maliciously upon my slight- 
est action, even our poor picnic of the other day has been 
torn to tatters. One would think to hear the innuendoes 
made concerning it that our proceedings up the river were 
quite unheard of, instead of which our party, as you know, 
was much like all others of its kind, except the crime of 
not being quite so dull as such entertainments generally 
are.” 

“ One of the pleasantest days I ever spent,” rejoined 
Musgrave. “ You are foolish to trouble yourself about 
what people say. Those who are not asked always find 
fault with the feast.” 

Hugh was perfectly aware of all the talk this water-party 
had evoked. He had now been long enough in England to 
comprehend Thea’s painful position; he had seen Mile. 
Tlierese flaunting in all her bravery down the Drive, and 
his blood had boiled to see such a public insult put upon 
the woman he passionately loved. He had overheard Lady 
Dullmgham's sneer upon the subject of this very picnic, 
how upon its being alluded to she had asked with an affec- 
tation of ignorance 64 which Mrs. Welstead was it:” and 
had felt a furious inclination to retort in similar fashion. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


179 


but the scathing sarcasm unluckily does not always present 
itself to our lips. 

“ That’s not the sort of carping I mean,” cried Thea; 
“ these women would insinuate that my isolated position is 
due to my own fault, that my very presence is a contamina- 
tion. It’s a lie, and they know it; my story is no secret.” 

“ No,” said Musgrave, “we all know the treatment to 
which you have been subjected, the shameful indignity 
which has been passed upon you, indeed is passed upon 
you every time you enter the park.” 

“ Hush!” rejoined Thea. “ Don’t speak of it. I could 
forget all that; my married life should be like a vision of 
the night-time, but these women’s bitter tongues sting me 
to madness. ” 

“ There is one way, Thea,” he exclaimed, passionately. 
“ Give me the right — ” 

“ Stop!” she interposed, quickly. “ You forget you’re 
thinking of what might have been. It is all too late now. 
Pay no attention to what I have said. I am in low spirits 
this morning. No, Hugh, not another word; leave me 
now.” 

Musgrave made no attempt to comply with her request, 
and it was perhaps as well that the reappearance of Mrs. 
Desmond abruptly terminated their tete-a-tete, and gave 
effect to Thea’s command. A few more minutes and Mus- 
grave took his leave, while Mrs. Welstead announced her 
intention of going up to spend an hour with J ulia Har- 
wood. It was all very well for Mrs. Welstead to uphold 
her right of receiving her old friends, but it was the sheer- 
est of sophisms to regard Hugh Musgrave any longer in 
that light. Mrs. Desmond had re-entered the drawing- 
room without any premeditation, but her quick eye told 
her that she had interrupted their tete-a-tete none too soon. 
There were traces of the storm left in Thea’s face, while 
the impatient contraction of Musgrave ’s brows clearly in- 
dicated his annoyance at her intrusion. Mrs. Desmond 


THE OUTSIDER. 


180 


was a conscientious woman, and slie had made the protest 
that she considered was demanded of her ; but she was too 
sensible for further interference, and therefore, whatever 
might have passed between the pair, she considered it was 
not for her to refer to. But that Thea would suffer for 
her recklessness, she felt assured ; in fact, if she broke off 
with Musgrave even now, it would be too late to stop the 
tongues that were already wagging at her expense. 

Miss Harwood was only too pleased to receive her visitor. 
Alter due inquiries after the wounded ankle, Thea ex- 
claimed gayly: 

“ Never were two philanthropists who devoted them- 
selves to the alleviation of the daily dullness of their fellow- 
creatures more ungratefully repaid. Our picnic is the 
best-abused entertainment of the season, and so far has 
made its mark. What enormities we are supposed to have 
committed I’m sure I don’t know, but I believe there is a 
perfect wagging of heads and shrugging of shoulders when- 
ever our names are mentioned. What legend is in circula- 
tion about your unfortunate foot I daren’t even venture to 
conjecture.” 

This picnic had, in truth, been given by Mrs. Welstead, 
but society had by this time quite come to regard Julia 
Harwood as a sort of ame damnee attached to Thea’s staff, 
and responsible for half of that lady’s misdoings. 

“ I am sorry to hear that,” replied Julia, smiling. “ It 
is bad enough to be tied to a sofa, but it’s rather hard to 
have a story made up of such a commonplace incident. 
By the way, I had a few lines from Mr. Talbot this morn- 
ing, in which, after kind inquiries, he informed me that 
the two malefactors who were the final cause of my acci- 
dent fell into the hands of the irate proprietor of the boat, 
who meted out stripes to them with a liberal hand.” 

“ Ah! I can quite understand,” said Thea, cc there is a 
certain solace in thinking that they, too, will probably be 


THE OUTSIDER. 


181 


confined to sofas. But how much longer is this trouble- 
some sprain going to keep you a prisoner:’ ' 

“ Pretty well to the end of our stay in town. We are 
off, I believe, now in a week. We never go to Goodwood, 
and papa always begins to fidget to get back to Holton 
when we come to July. He always says he has had quite 
enough of London during May and June. ” 

“ Ah, well, I can not get away so soon as that; but you 
will take me in at Holton Manor for a fortnight in the 
autumn, will you not?” And Thea asked this question 
with some little curiosity, for truth to tell, intimate as she 
was with Julia, and although it had been an understood 
thing between them that this visit should be paid, Thea 
felt that she knew next to nothing of Julia's .family. She 
had, of course, exchanged calls with Mrs. Harwood, but 
she had barely met the squire, and literally did not know 
Valentine even by sight. 

We shall be only too delighted to see you when you are 
ready to come to us,” replied Miss Harwood, cheerily, 
although she had been more than once exercised on the 
subject of this rather hastily given invitation. Julia had 
already begun to understand that her ill-advised intimacy 
with Mrs. Welstead had embarked her upon stormy waters. 
Thanks to her father's easy-going nature and her mother's 
self-effacement she enjoyed a latitude as regards the lady 
visitors to Holton Manor not often exercised by a daughter 
of the house. Valentine had never as yet interfered with 
this prerogative; he was, as a rule, too indolent to interfere 
with anything not positively inimical to his own interests 
or comfort; but upon this occasion he had already expressed 
an opinion decidedly hostile to Mrs. Welstead, and Julia 
knew that when he did take the trouble to interfere about 
anything he. could be obstinate as a mule in his interfer- 
ence, and very resolute indeed about the carrying of his 
point. However, this invitation had been given, there was 
no getting out of it, and it had to be brought about, if 


182 


THE OUTSIDER. 


within her power to compass. She was loyal as ever in her 
friendship to Thea; but she did recognize that Mrs. Wel- 
stead^s partisans would one and all have to do battle in her 
cause. It was not that she was blenching, and she ad- 
mitted that he was very nice, but still, if Thea would be a 
little more guarded in her relations with Mr. Musgrave it 
would be so much better. 

The pair chatted on in desultory fashion for some time, 
and then Thea rose, kissed her friend, and with a promise 
of looking in to tea the next day, took her departure. 
Affairs were still further complicated than Julia wotted of, 
for neither she nor Thea were aware that Valentine had 
asked Hugh Musgrave to spend a week or ten days at Hol- 
ton Manor in the early part of September. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“ THAT FOLLY IS ENDED. 33 

Mlle. Therese might have been .seen some three days 
after that visit of her husband, like Niobe, all tears. And 
they were honest tears in one sense; they were wrung from 
her by rage, vexation, and disappointment. Ah! she had 
done so well for herself, and then that miserable , who had 
trepanned her into marriage, had come upon the scene and 
spoiled everything. Mademoiselle in her sorrow for her- 
self, had drawn a favorite picture with most of her class, in 
which, in the end, she almost believed, and in which it 
would appear that, young and innocent, she had been en- 
trapped into a marriage by a wily and designing man. 
She quite ignored the fact that there had been an equally 
wily and designing woman in the case, and that when they 
opened the traps each found that a fox and not a fowl was 
the result of their cunning. 

She was reveling in luxury, she was rapidly filling her 
stocking, she had dreams of substantial settlement, and her 


THE 0UTSIDEK. 


183 


husband, like the Assyrian of old, had stolen down ujdou 
her vicious Arcadia. Freebooter he, whom no petty taxa- 
tion will satisfy. She knew him of old — more merciless, 
more rapacious, more unflinching than herself. She knew 
by past experience that his greed grew by gratification, 
that no goose that ever laid golden eggs but what must 
come to a speedy end should he get grip of it. For two 
days now had she waged stormy discussion with Algernon 
Welstead on money matters, only to find him obdurate in 
the extreme about a much less sum than that larger one 
she wanted, but had not as yet ventured to hint at. 

In her perplexity, mademoiselle reverted to the idea of 
that pension which, in their quarrels, Welstead had once 
suggested as the basis of their separation, but which at the 
time she had been in nowise prepared to accept. The ap- 
pearance of M. Duprat on the scene had materially altered 
the situation, and she began to ponder whether some com- 
mutation of that pension would not be the easiest solution 
of her difficulties. To escape from her husband was her 
one fixed idea, and that with as much sj)oil as she could 
bear away. M. Duprat was cynically indifferent to her 
proceedings, but that he would exact the lion's share of 
such property as she might acquire she was painfully 
aware. Should money not be forthcoming, then he would 
pounce upon her jewelry. She was a woman in whom the 
love of gold was the predominant passion. To touch her 
pocket was to wound her in her tenderest part. Clearly 
M. Duprat would never willingly lose sight of her while she 
was in funds. In poverty there was safety, but Mile. 
Therese had no idea of being first plucked and then aban- 
doned. No, there was nothing for it but flight. She 
would make her arrangements, and then silently depart to 
the Continent or America — anywhere that was beyond the 
ken of her rapacious husband. Having made up her mind 
on this point, mademoiselle decided that the sooner her 
scheme was put in practice the better. A week was soon 


THE OUTSIDER. 


184 

gone, and M. Duprat was impatient in disposition when 
money matters were concerned. 

Violent in temper and domineering in disposition. Mile* 
Th6rese was a woman by no means “ easy to hold in 
hand,” and yet her husband had acquired a most complete 
mastery over her. She teas afraid of him ! It certainly 
was not by love that M. Duprat ruled his wife. How he 
had managed it during the few months they had lived 
together no one. can say; but certain it is, that he had in- 
spired her with a terror that she never could shake off. 
She was ignorant of the law, both in her own country and 
in England, and had a vague belief that if he chose he 
could compel her to once more reside with him, and the 
brief reminiscence of her married life made her shudder 
whenever she thought of it. The very next opportunity 
she had she determined to come to terms with Welstead, 
and to wing her way from England, whatever the result 
might be. The next day she opened the trenches at break- 
fast. 

i£ Sorry to trouble you, but, as I told you the other day, 
I must have some money!” 

“ And, as I explained to you at the time, it is impossi- 
ble. Money is scarce with me just now; besides. Heaven 
knows you have had enough lately. What can you want it 
for?” 

“ What a question!” replied mademoiselle, with a mock- 
ing laugh; “ what should a woman want money for? — her 
caprices of course. If you refuse to gratify them, I shall 
think that you have ceased to love me,” and mademoiselle’s 
black eyes sparkled with coquetry. 

Such blandishments had ofttimes induced the writing of 
checks, but upon this occasion Mr. Welstead was firm and 
slightly brutal in his retort. 

“ You must put your own interpretation on that riddle, 
but at present your caprices are likely to remain ungrati- 
fied; you will have to wait till I have a turn somewhere. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


185 


At present luck is against me, both on the race-course and 
at the card-table. ” 

“ Ah, it is the money you squander on those two amuse- 
ments makes you poor. Are you to indulge your caprices 
— such costly fantasies too — and deny me a poor five hun- 
dred pounds?” 

“Five hundred pounds! — five hundred devils!” ex- 
claimed Welstead. “ Great Heaven! do you suppose I am 
a millionaire to give away such sums?” 

“ You would not think it much to bet upon a race. It 
would be a mere bagatelle to lose at cards; you are grow' 
mg selfish, my Algernon.” 

“ No doubt, from your point of view. I fancy most 
people would say commonly prudent: the sooner you under- 
stand that I refuse to utterly ruin myself for the sake of 
your vagaries the better . 99 

“ Ah, you have ceased to love me,” exclaimed Therese. 
“ If I have lost your love it is indeed time I bade you good- 
bye. Never mind the check; what is that to your affec- 
tion?” 

But the glamour had been gradually falling from Wel- 
stead ’s eyes for some time, and although Therese buried 
her face in her hands and sobbed audibly, the sole reply 
she elicited was a curt recommendation not to make a fool 
of herself. In an instant the Frenchwoman was trans- 
formed. She understood that her empire had departed, 
that her blandishments had lost their power. She sprung 
to her feet, her whole form swelling with indignation. 

“ You scorn my love,” she cried, “you laugh at my 
tears, and it is for this that I have sacrificed myself. I 
have thrown myself away on a man who- would cast me off 
like a faded flower. Me, a woman still in the meridian of 
her beauty. Merely monsieur. Do you think I will stay 
longer under the roof beneath which I have suffered such 
insult? No, I will relieve you of my presence,” 


186 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ Yes, it will be better so, Therese. We have discussed 
it often of late. I am tired of your temper and caprices.” 

And you professed to love me once/' screamed the 
Frenchwoman, “ and now, mon Dieu, you would turn me 
into the streets, like a dishonest servant, without a char- 
acter and penniless. I'll not submit to it." 

“ Nobody wants you to; you know I am proposing noth- 
ing of the kind, but part we will. A ou need not be afraid ^ 
I will take care that you leave me with ample funds to 
support you till you get — another situation." 

Therese's eyes blazed with fury as she cried: 

“It is well that you should taunt me with taking a 
soubrette’s place in order to be near you. Fool that I was 
to dream of constancy in a man like you. Your fidelity to 
madame might have warned me." 

“ Silence," thundered Welstead, roughly. “ You will 
keep my wife's name out of your discourse if you are wise. 
It will be the worse for you if you do not. " 

“ C’est doncfini /' hissed the Frenchwoman between her 
teeth. “ That folly is ended. There remains, monsieur, 
now nothing more than to say adieu. I shall trust to your 
generosity for traveling funds. " 

“You will have no cause to complain on that point," re- 
joined Welstead. “ I will write you the check you asked 
for, and give you the address of my solicitors, whom you 
can call on in a few days respecting final arrangements." 

“ No, no, I will have nothing to do with lawyers. What 
chance has a poor woman with them; they will throw me 
the bones after they have picked them. No, monsieur, 
write my check for double what I asked you, and you shall 
hear of me never again." 

For a minute or two Welstead was silent; then he said, 
quietly: 

“ It shall be as you wish. Now I will say good-bye, 
Therese," and Algernon extended his hand. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


187 


c ‘ Adieu, monsieur/* replied the Frenchwoman, and 
ignoring his proffered hand she swept him a somewhat 
stagey though graceful courtesy. And thus terminated an 
entanglement that had wrecked Algernon Welstead’s home, 
and cost him the two most stormy and troublous years of 
his life. 

Little did Welstead guess to what occult influence he 
owed his emancipation. Had it not been for the unex- 
pected appearance of her husband he would by no means 
have shaken off Mile. Therese’s chains so easily. That he 
would have done so sooner or later, no doubt —it is the 
usual lot of all such liaisons ; but except under the terror 
that possessed her, mademoiselle would never have aban- 
doned the luxurious position she occupied in such ready 
fashion. The knowledge that her lover’s passion was a 
thing of the past, although it would by no means have im- 
proved her temper, would not have one whit inclined her 
to let her victim go. 

Mile. Therese was much too material in her disposition 
not to cling to the comforts that surrounded her, notwith- 
standing all sentiment had died out between herself and 
Welstead. # 

“ Yes/’ muttered Welstead as the door closed on the 
handsome shrew who had for so long domineered over him, 
4 ^ it is best so. We are weary of each other, and the price 
she demands is little enough to pay for freedom. I wonder 
what made her propose this arrangement? She has always 
opposed it vehemently when it came from me. There can 
be, I fancy, but one solution of it. She has already filled 
my place. Well, I can only trust my successor has no 
yearnings for peace and quietness,” and with this reflection 
Algernon Welstead dismissed the subject from his mind as 
a folly that he had luckily got done with. 

Mile. Therese was as good as her word. She packed up 
her belongings and departed the next day, leaving behind 
her no hint of her destination. There were a few lines of 


188 


THE OUTSIDER. 


aclieu to TVelstead, but lie saw her no more, nor were they 
destined ever fco meet again in this world. 

Punctually at the expiration of the week did M. Duprat 
present himself in Portland Place and inquire for Mile. 
Therese Gamier. Endowed though he was with aplomb 
that rarely deserted him, yet the adventurer could scarcely 
conceal his dismay upon learning that mademoiselle had 
left unexpectedly two days previously. 

No, Mr. Magnum had no idea where mademoiselle had 
gone, and did not think that she had left any address be- 
hind her. Leastways/* continued the portly butler, his 
faculties somewhat stimulated by the liberal douceur that 
M. Duprat slipped into his hand, “ she ain*t left none with 
me, and of course I am the proper person to see to the for- 
warding of letters and such like. Seemed as if she was 
going away for some time too, judging by the lot of bag- 
gage she took with her.** 

‘‘It is unfortunate,** rejoined M. Duprat. “I had a 
little affair of business to see mademoiselle about. Is it 
not possible she may have left her address with the house- 
keeper.^ Mademoiselle left rather unexpectedly, eh?** 

‘ ‘ Very much so. I will inquire of the housekeeper if 
you wish it, but it ain*t likely, sir, is it? *rhe butler*s 
always the depositary of family secrets of that kind, 
mossoo, and if I haven*t got it depend on it no one has, 
unless, perhaps, master. Perhaps you’d better see him, 
sir. ** 

c * No, thank you, I have not the honor of Mr. Wel- 
stead*s acquaintance. I. am a relation of mademoiselle’s, 
and will call again in a few days to see if you have news of 
her. ** 

M. Duprat walked away with a suave, composed manner, 
but between his teeth there came a rush of sacre tonnerres 
with a rounding of r*s attainable only by a Frenchman in a 
passion. 

“ Imbecile traitresse ,** he muttered, “ and you think to 


THE OUTSIDER. 


189 


escape me; as if there was a spot on the habitable globe to 
which I would not track you now that I am convinced that 
you have property. It was not till three months after our 
marriage, madame, I could believe that I had been en- 
trapped by a mere adventuress. Xow that the world pros- 
pers with 3 T ou do you suppose the sun of your prosperity 
shall not shine for me also?” 

But in good truth M. Duprat was in very grievous straits. 
Things were at low water indeed with him in Paris when he 
was apprised that Mile. Therese was a person of notoriety in 
London, whose dresses and equipages attracted all eyes in 
Hyde Park. The man was a gambler and a spendthrift, 
and counting upon the large sum he had demanded at the 
end of the week from Therese he had been reckless with 
the money she had given him to supply his own immediate 
wants. It was all very well to threaten vengeance; it was 
very easy to swear that he would track the fugitive to the 
confines of Dahomey or the steppes of Tartary, but with- 
out any disparagement of the sleuth-hound capabilities of 
M. Duprat the first requisite in all such cases is money 
wherewith to prosecute the search. M. Duprat at the 
present moment pacing Portland Place, and swearing with 
all the abandon characteristic of a disappointed scoundrel 
of his kind, is quite awake to the fact, and is at present 
cudgeling his brains as to how the funds necessary for his 
purpose are to be procured. 

At first he bethought himself of attempting to wring 
blackmail from Welstead, on account of the relations that 
had existed between that gentleman and Therese. The 
man was base enough, infamous enough for anything; but 
reflection told him there was nothing to be done in that 
wise. Such a husband as himself would be laughed at m 
the law courts, should he claim compensation for his 
alleged wrongs, while Welstead had lived in such open defi- 
ance of public opinion, that it was useless to suppose that 
hush-money was to be extorted from him for the conceal- 


190 


THE OUTSIDER. 


ment of a scandal long since widely published. — and yet this 
Mr. Welstead was so rich. Duprat had heard much exag- 
gerated accounts of his wealth in the last few days, and 
had not his own eyes beheld the sign of such wealth in the 
gauds, luxuries, and valuables of the house in Portland 
Place? The income of a gentleman, betting heavily on the 
turf, is wont to be appraised considerably higher than it 
really is. The world hears of betting transactions meas- 
ured by thousands, and supposes that men who bet in this 
fashion must have immeasurable wealth — it by no means 
follows. One of the most daring gamblers the writer ever 
saw, and who was well known about London clubs, for 
many years was reputed to carry his whole capital — some 
three thousand pounds — in his breast-pocket, and was 
always ready to play ecarte, euchre, etc., for any stakes he 
was likely to be called upon to set. He was a formidable 
adversary, for he could both play and stay . When it 
comes to money on the table, there are not many men who 
carry three thousand pounds about them; and nerve and 
brag have much to do with scientific gambling. 

Duprat strode down toward the purlieus of Leicester 
Square, where he had for the present fixed his abode, cogi- 
tating deeply under what pretext he was to get his hand 
into Welstead ^s jiockets, or for the matter of that in any 
one else’s pockets that were well lined and could serve his 
need in his present emergency. As for Mile. Tlierese, let 
her look to herself as soon as he had acquired the necessary 
funds for pursuing her. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

JULIANS PERPLEX ITIES . 9 9 

The trees are on the turn, the grand old woods at Hol- 
ton Manor are putting on their autumn coloring, and the 
stately oak and beech look down contemptuously on the 
mushroom plantations which can not vie with them in the 


THE OUTSIDER. 


191 


varied tints of September, whatever they may do in the 
fresh verdure of May. The faint report of fire-arms* 
wafted across the broad golden stubble, proclaims that the 
feast of St. Partridge is passed, and that the game little 
birds are having a grewsome time of it among the turnips. 
They shoot hard these long bright September days at Hol- 
ton, for it is a tradition with the squire that they must kill 
upward of a thousand partridges during the first month of 
the season. Guests come and go, the salient parts of whose 
baggage seems to be laced boots, guns and cartridges, and 
given any kind of weather the war is carried on with re- 
lentless pertinacity. The Doncaster week produces a brief 
respite, as some of the party usually run up by rail to see 
the Leger run, and perhaps to the Cup again on Friday: 
but all that is over now, and how Mazeppa went down be- 
fore the flying Philippa, has it not been discussed ad 
nauseam in the smoking-room? 

“What a confounded nuisance,” exclaimed Valentine 
Harwood, as he opened his letters one morning in the week 
succeeding that which had witnessed the great struggle for 
the big race of the North. “ Here's Cis Maltby writes to 
say that he can't come to us. Why, he has been quite an 
institution here for the last few years; we always expect 
him for a fortnight about this time, and he generally comes 
again and helps us with the pheasants in January.” 

“ I don't know what has come to Cis,'' said Charley 
Wrey. ‘ 4 Only that I know that he was a big winner at 
Epsom I could have thought he was in prudential retire- 
ment. One could always reckon on his turning up from 
the Friday to Sunday night all through the season, but he 
has clung to Aldershot like a limpet ever since Mazeppa's 
victory." 

“ Yes,'' returned Val. “ He wasn't about after Ascot, 
and that wasn't like Cis; still he promised to come here 
this week. I don't understand it." 

The conversation here dropped, and Valentine, in his 


192 


THE OUTSIDER. 


own mind, during the day recurred more than once to 
Maltby’s defalcation. What could be the reason of it? 
The excuse he advanced was ridiculous. He had always 
managed to get away before, if not one week, another, and 
now he said he should not be. able to come to Holton at any 
rate before January. Could his sister have anything to do 
with it? He had often thought that Cis was rather sweet 
there, and that there might be something going on between 
those two. Could it be possible that Cis had at length de- 
clared himself, and received his dismissal from Julia? No, 
it was more likely, Valentine thought, that Maltby had 
drawn back in consequence of this sudden intimacy which 
had sprung up between Julia and Mrs. Welstead. Cis was 
no Puritan, he knew, but a man might hesitate about 
marrying a girl who claimed Mrs. Welstead as her most in- 
timate friend. Valentine, though he had no acquaintance 
with Thea, was most decidedly prejudiced against her. 
Without any knowledge of the real circumstances of the 
case he deemed that she had behaved very badly to Hugh 
Musgrave, and for Hugh he had great regard and admira- 
tion. Valentine had got hold of the story that Thea had 
been originally engaged to Musgrave and had thrown him 
over for a richer suitor upon learning that he was ruined, 
and that she was now in a fair way to compass his utter 
destruction and her own. All this, as we know, was not 
the case; but this was a version of the story pretty freely 
accepted in London regarding the past and probable future 
relations between the pair. 

Valentine knew that when society turns against a 
woman, the woman, if high-spirited, is apt to grow reck- 
less and defy society. She falls crushed and defeated in 
the unequal fight, for the most part, and perhaps even 
comes to envy the dull respectability she once derided. 
But it is not given to all natures to be content with the 
dominion of the nursery, and the village, and it is easy to 
fancy women gnawing their hearts out in these sylvan 


THE OUTSIDER. 


193 

scenes, growing year by year more arrogant and narrow- 
minded, and ruling their small dependencies with a rod of 
iron. Not pleasant women to meet socially, these; apt to 
sermonize and be dictatorial in their crude, rustic dogmas. 
Useless to dispute their prejudices; their limited worldly 
knowledge disqualifies them from free discussion of any 
subject. On the other hand there are women to whom this 
monotonous seclusion becomes intolerable. Better the 
blade should be shivered in the fray than rust ignominiously 
in the scabbard. Thea was one of these, and after her dis- 
appointment the quiet life in the Dorsetshire rectory be- 
came intolerable to her. She caught at the first oppor- 
tunity of escape. What had she to do with love hence- 
forth? She had staked her all upon a cast, and lost. Love 
had little to do with marriage; few people married those 
they loved; it was .alia matter of arrangement. She did 
not know much of Welstead, but he wanted a handsome 
wife, and she wanted — well, to be taken out of herself. 
She did not love him, but what of that? She was never 
likely to love again. She would make him a good wife, 
and he — why he would give her that distraction she asked 
for; and so poor, passionate, impulsive Thea plunged into 
her ill-starred marriage, and the world, just now, was wait- 
ing cynically to see what would be the end of it. 

Still Valentine harked back to his original idea, that his 
sister w'as at the bottom of Cis Maltby's refusal. 

It might be that she had said “ nay " to the dragoon's 
love-story, or else Cis had voluntarily withdrawn in conse- 
quence of Julia's intimacy with Mrs. Welstead. He deter- 
mined to question his sister on this point; albeit he knew 
from experience that such examination usually resulted in 
sharp skirmishing between them, Julia fierily resenting 
what she deemed unwarrantable inquiry into her private 
affairs. * 

I had a letter from Maltby this morning," remarked 
Valentine, as he strolled into the morning-room, in 

7 


194 


THE OUTSIDER. 


which, I am sorry to say, he says he can’t join us this 
week. Odcl, isn’t it? I don’t think he has failed us for 
the last four years.” 

Miss Harwood looked up quickly from the writing-table 
at which she was busy and remarked: 

“ I am sorry. Captain Maltby has appeared so preoccu- 
pied all the season that I can’t say I am surprised.” 

“ I thought, perhaps,” said Valentine, “ that you could 
throw some light on the subject.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense! What can you suppose that I 
should know about Captain Maltby’s engagements?” 

“ I should have said some three or four months ago that 
no one was likely to be better informed. Some of us 
thought it very possible that the first we should hear of the 
most important engagement a man ever makes would come 
from your lips. ” 

“ I shall not affect to misunderstand you,” said Miss 
Harwood, coldly; “ but I’ll trouble you, Val, to refrain 
from all speculations of that nature concerning me. Cap- 
tain Maltby and I were very good friends when we last 
met, but I don’t suppose any idea of that kind ever crossed 
his brain any more than it did mine.” 

“ Well, if you say so,” replied Val, “ there’s an end of 
the matter. By-standers, remember, are apt to see most of 
the game. And, perhaps, if it hadn’t been for your taking 
up as you did with Mrs. AVelstead, you might have a differ- 
ent answer to give me now.” 

“ Mrs. Welstead is a most maligned woman,” replied 
Julia, hotly. “ She is run down by a number of spiteful 
women whom she once counted amongst her friends, and a 
lot of men, who, like you, neither know her nor the rights 
of her story.” 

“ There are a good many more wrongs than rights in 
that story, my dear,” rejoined Valentine, roughly, “ ere 
the tale comes to an end. And the day may come when 


THE OUTSIDER. 


195 


you will regret that you were somewhat mixed up in it. ’ ’ 
And without further remark Val Harwood left the room. 

Poor Julia! she was stanch as ever to her new friend, 
but she could not disguise from herself that her friendship 
for Thea was involving her in a sea of perplexities. She 
also had had a letter that morning, in which Mrs. Welstead 
proposed to come to Holton Manor as soon as ever it should 
be convenient, and Julia was already meditating how this 
rather reckless invitation of hers was to be broken to her 
father. As before said, Miss Harwood was allowed consid- 
erable latitude in asking her own special friends to her 
home, but, of course, such invitations had to be submitted 
to the authorities; and though there never had been any 
veto put upon the guests she had bidden, yet she was aware 
that the squire could be very peremptory when he took a 
thing into his head, and she certainly had some mis givings 
as to her having asked Mrs. Welstead to Holton. He had 
never alluded to her intimacy with that lady, nor had he 
made any remark about the rare occasions on which he had 
encountered her in his daughter’s drawing-room, but that 
was quite a different thing from introducing her to the vie 
intime of his country home. 

However, as soon as Julia could catch her father, his 
permission had to be sought, for Thea’s letter must be an- 
swered by to-night’s post. It was a non-shooting day, and 
with a feeling of anxiety which she had never experienced 
before under the circumstances, Julia made her way to 
what was designated the squire’s sanctum, and where Rod- 
erick Harwood usually retired after breakfast to read the 
paper, interview his dependents, write his letters, and fid- 
dle about with his guns and fishing-tackle. There Julia 
discovered him, immersed in the somewhat wearisome em- 
ployment of filling cartridges, for Roderick Harwood was a 
sportsman of the old school, and infinitely preferred doing 
all these sort of things for himself if possible. 

“ Always fill my own cartridges, sir, and then I know 


190 


THE OUTSIDER. 


what’s in ’em,” which, as the old gentleman occasionally 
forgot the shot, or omitted the powder, hardly justified 
that declaration, and led to an outburst of strong and 
superfluous language. 

“ Come in, Julia,” cried the squire, as that young lady 
peeped timidly in upon his labors. “ To what do I owe 
the honor of this visit?” 

“ Oh, I have just run in to show you the list of visitors 
for the next fortnight, and inquire if you have any addition 
to propose to them. ” 

The squire took the list, and ran his eye over it. “ Hal- 
loo,” he exclaimed, “why is Maltby struck out? I like 
him, and so does Dickenson. ” 

“ Val got a letter from him this morning, in which he 
says he is sorry he can not get away.” 

“ Nonsense; as if a dragoon couldn’t get away in Sep- 
tember if he wanted to. I don’t understand it. What’s 
this — Mrs. Welstead? You don’t mean to say, Julia, that 
you’ve asked that woman down here?” 

“ Yes, I have, papa, and I don’t know why I should not. 
You’ve always allowed me to ask my own friends, and 
though Valentine is prejudiced against her, I don’t see why 
I should not do so in this case. I’m sure he brings friends 
liere sometimes of whom I am far from approving.” 

Julia was standing loyally to her guns, but she felt that 
the battle was going against her. 

“ Does Valentine know that you have asked Mrs. Wel- 
stead to Holton?” asked the squire. 

“ No,” replied Miss Harwood, with a rather forced 
laugh. “ It would be a flourishing of the red flag before 
the bull.” 

“ And do you know that Hugh Musgrave is coming here 
this week?” 

“ No,” faltered Julia, who really was utterly bewildered 
by the new and unexpected complication of the case. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


197 


“ He is,” said the squire, sternly, “and if you don’t 
know it, you may depend upon it Mrs. Welstead does.” 

“ I feel sure Thea does not,” said Miss Harwood. 

“ You can only be sure that she has not told you of it. 
Now, look here, Julia, Fin not going to be an accessory to 
an elopement. I’ve known Hugh Musgrave from a boy, 
and this Mrs. Welstead treated him shamefully in the past, 
and is playing the very devil with him in the present. 
Hugh’s sole chance is marrying well, and this woman has 
got him in her toils, and I suppose will wind up by running 
away with him and ruining him past redemption.” 

“ I assure you, my dear father, it is not so.” 

“ Don’t talk about what you don’t understand,” retort- 
ed the squire, sharply. “ I suppose you will deny they 
were the talk of all London last season. ” 

“ They are old friends,” murmured Julia, faintly. 

“Old fiddlesticks,” retorted her father, testily; “old 
lovers you mean. I can’t interfere, but at all events I’ll 
have no such scandal carried on at Holton. Get out of it 
as best you can; but remember, Mrs. Welstead doesn’t 
come here.” 

Julia had never feared her father in his wrath. She was 
used to his explosions and knew that they were sound, sig- 
nifying nothing, but it was only some two or three times in 
her life that she had heard him speak in this stern, deter- 
mined manner. He was a straight-going man according 
to his lights, and it was the petty worries of the world that 
produced those violent ebullitions at which his friends 
smiled, but at which strangers stood aghast. When 
brought face to face with more serious matters, he was firm 
and decided, but far less exuberant in his language. Miss 
Harwood made no answer, but silently left the room. 
What was she to do? Put Thea off she must, but under 
what pretense? Her loyalty to her friend was shaken. 
Thea must have known that Hugh Musgrave was to be at 
Holton; why had she never mentioned it? A disagreeable 


198 


THE OUTSIDER. 


impression stole over Julia that she was being made a 
cat's-paw of— that Mrs. Wei stead's desire to see her, 
Julia's home, was prompted by the knowledge that she 
should meet Mr. Musgrave there. In short. Miss Harwood 
came to the conclusion that her father w r as right in the 
main, and that this projected visit of Thea’s was for the 
purpose of prosecuting her flirtation with Hugh Musgrave, 
which Julia, though she would not openly admit it, in her 
heart could not but feel was being carried beyond the limits 
of prudence. When was the invitation given? She must 
ask her brother that. It might have been only a thought 
of the last week or two, and then Thea possibly would have 
known nothing about it. As soon as she could find Valen- 
tine she put her question. 

44 When did I ask Hugh Musgrave to Holton? Well, at 
a Greenwich dinner he gave us toward the end of June. 
Why?" As he sjioke he looked at her curiously. Sud- 
denly a thought seemed to strike him. 44 Good heavens, 
. Ju," he exclaimed, 44 you've never been such a fool as to 
ask Mrs. Welstead here?" 

46 Mrs. Welstead will not come to Holton. It is odd you 
never mentioned your invitation, though," and Miss Har- 
wood retired to her own room to think what she had best 
do under the circumstances. 

Julia was not long in making up her mind. It was clear 
that Mrs. Welstead could not come to Holton, and that it 
was very awkward to make a decent excuse for not receiv- 
ing her. 44 There is only one thing," muttered Miss Har- 
wood, 44 1 must go away. 1 dare say the Skeltons will take 
me in for a week or two. I will write to Mrs. Skelton and 
volunteer myself at once, and then I will write to Thea and 
tell her I shall be away from home, so sorry, etc. It's 
rather mean, but I can't help myself; besides, she must 
have known Mr. Musgrave was coming here, and she ought 
to have told me. " 

Now, Mrs. Welstead had not told Julia that Musgrave 


THE OUTSIDER. 


199 


was to be at Holton for the best of all possible reasons, that 
she did not know it herself. Invitations at Greenwich din- 
ners are apt to be regarded as somewhat shadowy and of 
doubtful reality, prompted at the time by wine and good- 
fellowship, the outcome of a genial disposition and a soul 
at peace with its fellow-creatures. Although Hugh Mus- 
grave had figuratively booked VaPs invite for Holton at 
the time with all due ceremony, yet before the week was 
out he had forgotten all about it, and it was hot till a re- 
minder from Valentine, after wandering for some days on 
his track, finally reached him at a shooting lodge in Perth- 
shire, that Musgrave called to mind the engagement. Al- 
though he did not know it, he most certainly expected to 
meet Thea at Holton, or he would have hardly been so 
keen to exchange the wild sport of the heather for the com- 
paratively tame fun of the turnips. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“a last good-bye." 

Thea Welstead had been looking forward not a little 
to her visit to Holton. 

Life for her had been excessively dull since the end of 
the London season. She had been down to Brighton, but 
although that fashionable watering-place was full enough, 
it was to her as the Desert of Sahara. Brighton at that 
time was not affected by the London world, but given over 
to the Israelite, the tripper and the book-maker. This lat- 
ter class, indeed, after the fierce turmoil of the Sussex fort- 
night are especially fond of a sojourn by the salt waters, 
before girding up their loins for a renewal of the fray at 
York and Doncaster; from which date the battle between 
them and the backers rages fiercely, until the curtain falls 
on the Houghton Meeting, leaving the victors to winter in 


200 


THE OUTSIDER. 


luxury, while the losers, like dogs who have fought, are 
busied licking their wounds. 

Needless to say Thea found scarce a soul down there 
that she knew. She was bored to death, and yet where to 
go she did not know. She had these two months, August 
and September, to get through somehow, before she could 
wend her way back to Toxeter. She had got through six 
dreary weeks, chiefly at Brighton: she was now back again 
in London, staying at an hotel, for she had given up her 
house, and eagerly awaiting a summons from Julia to pro- 
ceed to Holton, ‘ 4 where/ ' as she said laughing to Mrs. 
Desmond, “ we shall have an opportunity of once more ex- 
changing ideas with our fellow-creatures. ” Miss Har- 
wood s letter came at last, and was a cruel disappointment. 
Julia had done her best, but it was impossible for a clever 
woman like Thea not to see the whole thing was a subter- 
fuge. Why, at this eleventh hour, should there turn up 
the engagement which it was impossible for her to break? 
Mrs. Welstead could read between the lines; she did not 
altogether blame Julia. It was not often young ladies 
ventured to take so much on themselves as exercising the 
free right of hospitality in their fathers' house. As she 
rightly guessed, Julia had pledged herself to more than she 
could perform. The authorities at Holton would have none 
of her. Julia had doubtless done her best, but she had 
been overruled; -she had not the brutal courage necessary 
to tell the truth, and so had vamped up this transparent 
excuse. What had she done that these Harwoods should 
shrink from her as if she was a leper? Who were these 
Harwoods that they should take upon themselves to point 
the finger of scorn at her? And Thea's eyes sparkled; she 
stamped her foot in mutinous passion, and all her rebellious 
nature was up in arms at what she regarded as the injustice 
of society. She had flirted a good deal with Musgrave per- 
haps, but was she worse than scores of other women in 
London? was hers the only affair of the season? And then 


THE OUTSIDER. 


201 


the tears sprung to her eyes, and she declared that her lot 
was harder than she could bear. Julia’s letter was most 
affectionate; she not only expressed the greatest regret at 
not being able to receive her friend, but she further hojaed 
that the visit was only postponed, and that Thea would 
come to them a little later on, but Mrs. Welstead knew 
better, she knew well that other invitations would never be 
penned. 

Hugh Musgrave has arrived at Holton, and been cordially 
welcomed by the Harwoods and Charley Wrey. The first 
evening at dinner tells him that Mrs. Welstead is not 
amongst the guests, nor from what he can collect is she ex- 
pected. This to Hugh is a matter of grievous disappoint- 
ment. He is about as wildly in love as a man can be. He 
has not seen the object of his adoration for six weeks, and 
he tore himself away from a pleasant party in Scotland. 
Ho wonder that Hugh is a little morose, and responds but 
sullenly to the stimulus of the squire’s claret. 

“ Well, Hugh,” said Charley Wrey, when the smoking- 
room was at length reached, “ we saw nothing of you at 
Doncaster. How did fortune treat you? We all know 
that you may lose plenty of money racing although you 
may never set foot on a race-course.” 

“ My guardian angel watched over me in the shape of 
Mr. Sparrow. I had a monkey on Mazeppa in considera- 
tion of the turn he did me at Epsom, but Sparrow, just be- 
fore I left London, insisted on my backing Philippa for a 
hundred. She was at ten to one, so I had a good race after 
all! Ho, Charley, you needn’t lecture me on the horrors 
of the turf, nor the foolishness of putting your trust in race- 
horses; I am not going to follow my luck any further. I 
backed Mazeppa in all the pride of victory, and should 
have burned my fingers if it hadn’t been for Sparrow. I 
had a letter from him just after Doncaster, and you will 
never guess what he said.” 

“ How look here, Hugh,” said Charley Wrey, solemnly, 


202 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“you come down here, and you’ve been kindly treated, 
you have been fed, and if you have any complaint to make 
about your claret it’s my duty to inform you it arises from 
your confounded ignorance. You have come amongst a 
lot of quiet innocents, and if you’re going to demoralize 
them with a hideous Cesare witch tip I say unto you. Be 
silent, young man.” 

“ Sparrow’s tip was not of that kind,” said Hugh; 
“ c Chuck it up, sir, chuck it up,’ was the burden of his 
song. c I’m not likely to have another Mazeppa — don’t 
expect to. You can’t make a business of it as I do, and 
are safe to lose money in any other way.’ ” 

“ And you think you can follow that advice?” said Yal 
Harwood. 

“Yes,” replied Musgrave. “It is like smoking. I 
could give it up altogether, but I couldn’t limit myself to 
a cigar a day. Betting with me rapidly becomes plunging, 
and so I’ll leave it alone for the future.” 

“ So, like many other famous men, he has gathered 
wisdom in adversity and exile,” said Wrey, laughing. 

“ Nothing of the kind, Charley,” rejoined Musgrave. 
“The little wisdom I possess has been drummed into me 
by a book-maker, and primarily in the Strand. ” 

“Don’t be critical,” remarked Yal Harwood. “ If he 
lias imbibed wisdom, what does it matter where he got it? 
There, that’s enough of chaff and racing for the present. 

“ * Oh, what a shocking disaster, 

I’ve lost all my money at Doncaster.’ 

as I heard a gentleman, rather the worse for liquor, singing 
on his way to the station last week. We’ll suppose it is so, 
and then, of course, there’s no more to be said. Let’s talk 
of something else.” 

Now we all know what a remark of this kind usually is; 
it is a regular douche bath to conversation; it falls like a 
shell amongst a knot of pleasant, chatty people. It 


THE OUTSIDER. 


203 


paralyzes them. They who otherwise would never have 
been at a loss for a topic of conversation are now dumb- 
stricken. It seems absurd, but nothing produces such a 
paralysis of tongues as an abrupt hint or order to change 
the- conversation. The most unacceptable topics invariably 
rise to every one’s lips, and in the present case it was the 
name of Welstead that rose simultaneously to the lips of 
both Wrey and Musgrave. 

“I dare say you fellows have later town news than 
mine,” Remarked Hugh, lazily, “ but I hear Welstead has 
been having a precious rough time at the Portland lately.” 

“Yes, I heard that before I left town,” rejoined Wrey. 
“ He is one of the men whom Stryke’s death has temporarily 
affected. He has been doing no good on the turf of late. 
Like a good many more of them he has had to make good 
borrowed money at short notice, which means usually 
borrowing again at rather higher interest.” 

Once more the conversation languished. Ho one could 
affect to take much interest in the affairs of so unpopular 
a man as Mr. Welstead. 

Suddenly Musgrave exclaimed: 

“ God bless me, I quite forgot to ask after him before. 
Where’s Cis Maltby? Thought he generally shot with you, 
Yal, at this time of year; looked upon him as a certain 
find at Holton?” 

“ So he ought to be,” rejoined young Harwood, “ and 
why the deuce he isn’t I don’t know. I can’t think what 
has come to him; no one seems to have seen much of him 
since that great kick-up at Mrs. Petersham’s.” 

“ He was at Ascot,” remarked Musgrave. 

“ Oh, that’s nothing,” rejoined Val, “ Ascot and Aider- 
shot are adjacent villages, but he never turned up in Lon- 
don all the latter part of the season.” 

And once more the talk in the smoking-room dried up, 
and the denizens thereof smoked on in meditative silence. 


204 


THE OUTSIDER. 


At length Hugh Musgrave rose, pitched the end of his 
cigar into the grate, and remarked: 

” Well, Val, I am awfully tired, and will be off to bed,” 
and with a hod of good-night to Wrey, he picked up his 
candle and left the room, an example the others, in spite 
of the temptation to a confidential tete-a-tete , quickly fol- 
lowed. 

Two or three days passed, but although the sport was 
good, there was no denying that they were rather a dull 
party at Holton. 

Miss Harwood, who in spite of much expostulation on 
the part of both her brother and father had insisted on be- 
taking herself to her friends, the Skeltons, was a severe 
loss. She had kept things going in the evenings, which 
now threatened to fall into complete stagnation. Cis Malt- 
by too was dreadfully missed, not only from Dickenson's 
point of view, who regarded all male guests at Holton as 
so many game-killing machines; but in the drawing-room 
after dinner, where in conjunction with Julia, he had been 
the prime mover of those petits jeux with which a country- 
house circle is wont to while away the hours between din- 
ner and bed-time. 

Musgrave found it insufferably dull, but then when a 
man is so stricken as Hugh it matters little what his sur- 
roundings may be if the one being who possesses his soul 
is not there to share them. Her presence is light, her ab- 
sence darkness, and Musgrave ? s passion has by this so com- 
pletely mastered him that his one thought is how to meet 
Mrs. TTelstead again. Just at present he is in ignorance 
of her whereabouts, for Thea had been not at home ” on 
the oecason of his last two or three visits in Bryanston 
Square. Mrs. Wei stead, in fact, was recognizing too late 
that not only was she compromising herself in the eyes of 
the world, but that her own feelings were so compromised 
that she could no longer trust herself; but, unfortunately, 
she thought there could be no harm in writing Hugh a few 


THE OUTSIDER. 


205 


lines of adieu. She had no doubt that he was out of town, 
but he would find it at the Theatine when he got back. 

Time was falling very heavy on her hands, now that her 
visit to Holton had fallen through, and therefore she wrote 
not only more at length, but in a more despondent tone 
than could be considered judicious. Women seldom leave 
well alone in these cases, and it was scarce worth while to 
have avoided the danger of another interview if she was to 
commit the imprudence of a letter which dwelt upon the 
isolation of her position. When a woman complains of the 
loneliness of her lot in life to a man avowedly her admirer, 
it is rather suggestive of its being within his power to alle- 
viate it. 

The letter, after two or three days* wanderings, reached 
Hugh at Holton, having been forwarded from his club to 
the address in Scotland that he had left with the hall por- 
ter. Musgrave’s mind was made up on the instant, and 
after breakfast he announced to his host that he regretted 
unexpected business called him back to town the next day. 
Val received the intelligence courteously, and although 
the squire rather pooh-poohed the idea of business purposes 
during the long vacation, yet, of course, he accepted his 
guest’s excuses, albeit the sudden loss of such a reliable 
gun put him out not a little. AndsoHughMusgrave sped 
him back to the metropolis in accordance with the fiction 
he had promulgated. 

The falling through of her a Holton invitation has been a 
bitter disappointment to Thea. Not only has she looked 
forward to a pleasant visit, but she is left in London at 
the latter part of September, with all her arrangements 
upset. She does not enter upon the tenantry of her house 
at Toxeter until the 10th of October. It is hardly worth 
while to go anywhere else for this fortnight, and yet Lon- 
don is as hot and void of inhabitants to her as the plains of 
the Deccan. 

She was sitting yawning over a novel, listlessly waiting 


206 


THE OUTSIDER. 


for her afternoon tea, and then thinking of that dreary 
drive round the park, where there was no hope of encount- 
ering any one she knew, when the waiter came in, and 
handing her a card, asked if madame was at home. Thea 
just glanced at it, and as she did so felt the blood surge to 
her temples. 

“ N o," she said at first, “ not at home. Stop, stay a 
moment. Yes, lam; show Mr. Musgrave up. There can 
be no harm, " she muttered to herself, “ in just seeing him 
this once. I haven't seen a soul to speak to for a fort- 
night." And then Thea sat with flushed face and beating 
heart, awaiting the man to whom she had resolved to say 
“ Good-bye forever." 

“ What a piece of luck," exclaimed Musgrave, as he en- 
tered the room. “I never dreamed of catching you in 
town at this time. Your letter followed me to Scotland 
and you gave rather a sad account of the desolation of 
Babylon, so I thought as I was passing through I would 
call, upon the off-chance of your being still here." 

“ Yes, indeed, I am likely to be here for another fort- 
night. I was to have passed it at Holton Manor." 

“ Holton Manor?" interrupted Musgrave. “ Why, I 
have just come from there, and I own I half expected to 
meet you." 

“ Is Julia there?" inquired Mrs. Welstead, sharply. 

“ No," replied Hugh. “ She is staying with the Skel- 
tons, people who live some twenty miles off. Your letter 
made me quite unhappy; you wrote as if you felt so lonely 
— as if you were a woman without friends." 

“ I was in low spirits when I wrote that letter," replied 
Thea. “ My solitary life weighs hard upon me at times. 
I am tabooed by society for no fault of my own, but sim- 
ply because it was my misfortune to marry a man with 
whom no woman could keep her self-respect and live. 
The storms of life are never of our own creating. 
They are always due to the misbehavior of other people. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


207 


It is never our own sins that have come home to roost, but 
it is always the faults of those others that have worked 
our undoing. ” 

“ You are tried, cruelly tried/' said Musgrave in a low 
tone. “ Your lot is a hard one. Oh, that it were in my 
power to soften it!” 

“Hard!” she exclaimed, passionately. “It is so hard 
that it maddens me when I think of it. Even you, I should 
think, can guess why I didn’t go to Holton. Julia is a 
good girl and a stanch friend, but they wouldn’t let her 
have me there. The narrow-minded old country squire 
deemed his old halls would be desecrated by the foot of a 
woman who lived apart from her husband. I suppose it 
would have set all Barkshire talking if it were known that 
Squire Harwood had received Mrs. Welstead within his 
gates . 99 

“ I heard not a word down there,” said Hugh; “ but it 
wasn’t likely. I am too well known as an intimate friend 
of yours for anything to be said to your disparagement in 
my presence. But, Thea, my dearest, how is all this to 
end? You can not fight the world sing4e-handed, no 
woman can. As well may the ship seek to breast the sea 
in its wrath without the man at the helm. In both cases 
grinding to pieces against the rocks is the inevitable result. 
Ah, Thea, give me the right to protect you.” 

“ Give you the right! How can I give it you? It w r as 
yours to take once , and then you threw it on one side. And 
now — God help me! I must tread my way through life 
alone,” and here Thea suddenly burst into tears. 

That Musgrave should proceed at once to kiss away the 
tears and console her, was but natural, and for a minute or 
two she abandoned herself to his embrace. Suddenly she 
wrenched herself free. 

“ A truce to this madness!” she exclaimed. “We must 
see each other no more. This must be our last meeting, 
Hugh.” 


208 


THE OUTSIDER. 


“ We can not part like this/* lie rejoined in low, passion- 
ate tones. “ The world is unjust to you, leave it. I, too, 
have gone down in the battle, and England has no longer 
any attractions for me. Let me but take you with me and 
we*ll begin life again in some other land where we are un- 
known, and where there will be no one to trouble them- 
selves concerning us.** 

“ Sophistry, rank sophistry,** she replied, sadly. “ The 
world is small, and, believe me, there is no burying the 
past. No, Hugh, I love you far too well to be such a drag 
upon you as that. ** 

“ You are the one love of my life,** he rejoined. “ I am 
content to forego the world for — ** 

“ Hush!** she interrupted. “ You would condemn your- 
self to isolation for me. You could not bear it. Could 
you endure to see the woman you loved pointed at? And 
remember, that to you society will be still open when you 
choose to return to it; but on me the door will have closed 
irrevocably.** 

For a minute or two there was a dead silence between 
them, and then Musgrave said: 

“ Thea, dearest, hear me.** 

“ No,** she said, sadly, <c I have heard too much. We 
must say good-bye, to meet no more till our pulses beat 
less wildly than they do now. Good-bye — and God bless 
you, Hugh.** 

He clasped her hand, and drawing her toward him would 
have fain pressed his lips to her cheek, but she gently re- 
leased herself and rang the bell in token that their farewell 
was spoken. 

The tears welled again into Thea*s eyes, as she threw 
herself upon the sofa and knew that Hugh ‘Musgrave had 
passed out of her life forever. 

“ I should never have listened to him, ** she moaned, 
“ but I loved him so very dearly. We have parted now, 
and, God forgive me, I fear it was but mere worldly wie- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


209 


dom gave me strength to say nay, and not those higher 
motives which should guide a woman in such straits as 
mine. Hugh! Hugh! my darling, you have made me 
very miserable, and I dread to think of the dreary days 
that lie before me/' and then Thea buried her face in the 
cushions and sobbed convulsively. 


CHAPTER XXY. 

“ ihw IK AN AWFUL SCRAPE.” 

Miss Harwood was by no means in a happy frame of 
mind when she set out on her drive to Midden, as the Skel- 
tons! place was called. Things were not going at all to 
that young lady’s liking at present. She was very dissatis- 
fied with herself and with all around her. Helpless as she 
was in the matter, she felt conscious of having behaved 
meanly toward Thea "Welstead. She had stood by her 
friend to the best of her ability, but when it brought her 
into direct opposition to her brother, she had found herself 
powerless. This hurt her vanity not a little, for she be- 
lieved herself all-powerful with her father; but she did 
not reckon upon this, to wit, that on such a point as the 
reception of Mrs. Welstead at Holton, Valentine’s knowl- 
edge of London gossip would carry more weight than her 
own; added to which the squire himself v r as by no means 
ignorant of how lightly Mrs. Welstead’s name had been 
bandied about of Jate in club smoking-rooms. She could 
not regret knowing Thea, because she had grown very 
much attached to her, though, at the same time, she could 
not shut her eyes to the recklessness of her proceedings; 
still the acquaintance had been met with marked dis- 
approval by her own people, and, what was worse, it had 
led to a thorough rapture with Gis Maltby. 

Julia was not a vain young woman, but she very rightly 


210 


THE OUTSIDER. 


attributed Maltby’s non-appearance at Holton to the terms 
upon which they had parted. She felt certain that his at- 
tentions to herself had been in all earnest; and that he had 
so studiously avoided her since that difference in Hyde 
Park, showed that he attributed no little importance to the 
line she had thought fit to take upon that occasion. Thea 
Welstead was the cause of that misunderstanding, and 
Julia began to reflect ruefully that this was a misunder- 
standing that seemed as if it never meant to be cleared up 
now. She had counted for certain on coming to an ex- 
planation with him this week. He had only missed aiding 
in the destruction of the Holton partridges once in the last 
five years. 

Couldn’t get away, indeed! She believed that no more 
than did her brother Valentine. But as she had said be- 
fore, there is no making your peace with a man you can not 
get speech with, and Julia could not but fear that Cis 
would be as insensible to the attractions of the pheasant- 
shooting in January as he had shown himself to those of 
killing partridges in September. It W'as evident that the 
dragoon avoided her with set purpose; and this, if it testi- 
fied to the depth of his feelings toward her, bore witness 
equally that he had made up his mind to stifle them. 

By the time she had reached Midden she had made up 
her mind that it was a weary world, and that the horse- 
soldier was specially tetchy and stiff-necked in his genera- 
tion; that she could do nothing to mend matters, and that 
kind as it was of the Skeltons to take her in, it W’ould be a 
rather mild substitute for the very pleasant party wont to 
assemble at Holton during this fortnight. Had she only 
known it, there was one of the family at Midden not a little 
disgusted at this volunteered visit of Miss Harwood’s. A 
cordial assent had been dispatched by Mrs. Skelton in an- 
swer to Julia’s note, before intelligence of the “ proposed 
visitation, ” as she promptly dubbed it, reached Lucy Skel- 
ton’s ears, or I doubt whether there would have been a 


THE OUTSIDER. 


211 


room vacant for the self-invited guest. The fair Lucy had 
schemes of her own afloat, for the pursuance of which the 
assistance of Miss Harwood was by no means desirable. 

It is well we are not always behind the scenes. There 
are times when, if we really knew the feelings of our host 
and hostess toward us, we should deeply regret that we had 
ever trespassed on their hospitality when we have been 
asked, not from any liking to ourselves, but simply because 
we were deemed a piece in that little puzzle of society, 
which takes such a deal of putting together. We turn out 
to be the round peg in the square hole allotted to us, and 
our hostess plaintively complains to her intimates that we 
are not what she thought us! We had been asked because 
it was thought that we would play jester to the whole 
circle; or we have been asked because, as nephew of the 
Bishop of Buddleton, we could forward dear Charlie's (the 
most unlicked cub of a sucking curate we ever met) in- 
terests in the church; or we were supposed to be on the 
visiting list of Lady Standoff, that great social leader of 
the county, but who for all that somewhat turned her nose 
up at provincial surroundings. 

Lucy Skelton met J ulia in the hall with all that passion- 
ate enthusiasm with which it is the custom of young ladies 
to welcome one another. She bore her off at once to the 
drawing-room to shake hands with Mrs. Skelton and to 
have some tea. “ All the men, dear," said she, “ are out 
shooting, and you are not likely to see anything of them 
before dinner. Come upstairs, and we shall have time for 
a long gossip before the dressing-bell goes. " 

But ere that pleasant herald had clanged forth his sum- 
mons, J ulia had sought refuge in her own room. Her visit 
did not promise to be a lively one, judging by the people in 
the house. As far as she had gathered from Lucy, they 
consisted, with the exception of a few county people, whom 
she knew but sightly, chiefly of strangers. The Skeltons 
mixed in quite- a different set from the Harwoods, in Lon- 


THE ' OUTSIDER. 


212 

don, and therefore the metropolitan contingent, always a 
great factor in country-house life, was quite unknown to 
her. 

I was bound to get away from Holton/* she mut- 
tered; “ Thea would have been certain to have heard of it 
if I had remained, and the sole excuse I can invent for not 
receiving her is the being away from home. A sorry plea, 

I fear, she will think it. . She is far too shrewd to be de- 
ceived by such a flimsy fraud as this. Well, Tliea, my 
dear I did my best for you, and feel that I am about to 
pass a very dull week in expiation of promising more than 
I could perform. ” 

The party might promise to be dull, the list of the guests 
that are to gather round the board may sound without in- 
terest in her ears, but there never was woman yet who did 
not think it worth while to don her armor for the fray. 
She might be destined to hear nothing but the day*s battle 
of the turnips fought over again. It might be that her 
neighbor would dilate on the virtues of the five-course sys- 
tem, and be eloquent on the advantages of deep under- 
ground draining, but for all that a woman would fain look 
her best. Nothing is more likely to happen than the un- 
foreseen, and given the carte du pays , the unexpected ele- 
ment is the one most likely to arise. 

Julia made her way down-stairs a few minutes after the 
gong sounded, and joined the circle in the drawing-room. 
They were punctual people, and before she had time to 
take stock of the company. Miss Harwood found herself 
sailing into dinner upon the arm of a gentleman with 
whom she had occasionally danced at the county balls. As 
she spooned her soup the fair Julia looked round the table, 
and was simply petrified at finding that her vis-a-vis was 
Captain Maltby. Miss Harwood was a young lady with a 
well-balanced mind, and by no means deficient in aplomb . 
She was not easily taken aback by these little surprises so 
apt to be sprung upon us in society, but for once in her life 


THE OUTSIDER. 


213 


the young lady was fairly dumfounded. Yes! there di- 
rectly opposite her sat that nonchalant dragoon, who was 
unable to get away from his regiment, sipping sherry and 
conversing lazily with Lucy Skelton. 

Women recover themselves on these occasions quicker 
than men, and it was some consolation to Miss Harwood to 
witness the utter demoralization of Cis Maltby on discover- 
ing who was his vis-a-vis. There was confusion in his 
bow, there was discomfiture in his countenance; it was 
rarely indeed that Cis lost his sang-froid, but the situation 
was embarrassing, and all the more so because, though he 
had thought proper to indulge in a fit of the sulks, he was 
still more in love with Julia than ever. He knew he was 
doing a foolish thing when he said yes to old Skelton’s 
pressing invitation to come over and have a crack at the 
Midden partridges after he had paid his visit to Holton. 
He had met the old gentleman unexpectedly at lunch after 
one of those swagger Aldershot field days which all London 
pours down to see. He certainly had not then made up 
his mind to give up all thoughts of Julia, but when he sent 
his excuse to Holton he might have known that his visit to 
Midden would be certain to reach the Harwoods’ ears. I 
suppose there was something of the moth hovering round 
the candle in this infirmity of purpose on his part. He 
would not see Julia again, but he could not resist going 
where he was certain to hear of her, and this was the re- 
sult of his clumsy maneuvering. 

“ By Jove!” he muttered, “ I have put my foot in it, 
and how the deuce I am to explain my appearance here to 
Miss Harwood is a bit beyond me. However, the chances 
are she is too indignant to put me on my defense; that 
was a pretty stiff bow compared with the bright little nod 
I should have had three months ago.” 

Nothing of all this escaped the quick eyes of Miss Skel- 
ton. She had heard vaguely — goodness knows how this 
sort of intelligence gets about — but she had heard that 


214 


THE OUTSIDER. 


Miss Harwood had quarreled with her old admirer Captain 
Maltby. She had been not a little flustered at hearing that 
gentleman was coming to Midden, and not a little put out 
upon hearing of Julia's volunteered visit. Lucy Skelton 
would have had no objection to bind up the wounds of this 
stricken warrior, and console him, so far as she might, for 
his misadventures in Love's tournament. Her first impres- 
sion upon hearing of Julia's intended visit was that this 
was a daring and piratical attempt on Miss Harwood's 
part to cut out the prize in her (Lucy Skelton's) own 
waters, but in forty-eight hours she had arrived at the con- 
clusion that Captain Maltby's advent at Midden could not 
possibly have been known at Holton, and further, that that 
hero was beyond her powers of consolation. She had 
known Captain Maltby for some time, and liked him. She 
was undoubtedly quite willing that their relations should be 
'placed on a much tenderer footing; but her feelings so far 
were not in the least involved, and indeed she was too prac- 
tical a girl ever to fall into the weakness of a serious pas- 
sion. She was quick-witted, and the talk that she had 
with J ulia before dinner quite confirmed her in the correct- 
ness of her surmise, to wit, that Miss Harwood had no con- 
ception of Captain Maltby being even in Barkshire. 

She was a girl endowed with a strong spirit of mischief, 
and the thought at once occurred to her that if there was 
not much profit to be got out of Cis's visit, there might, 
under the circumstances, be much fun. She was much 
amused at the startled recognition of the pair across the 
dinner-table, and it was with a mischievous smile that she 
remarked : 

“ Why, Captain Maltby, you look quite surprised to see 
Miss Harwood! She lives close by, you know?" 

“'Exactly! Of course! Not at all!" rejoined Cis. 
“ Just one of the people one might have expected to — " 

“Meet," interrupted Lucy. “Just so! but you know 
you didn't. It's no use; one can see it in your face." 


THE OUTSIDER. 


215 


“ Well, you know,” replied Cis rather lamely, “ you 
never told me she was coming?” 

• “ No,” replied Miss Skelton, “ but I should have given 
you credit for being pretty well informed with regard to 
Julia's movements. You haven't quarreled, have you?" 

“ No!” rejoined Cis, “ but I haven't seen much of her 
lately. Fact is, you know, we have a new general at 
Aldershot. Fellow that's never seen service, and they are 
always so terribly blood-thirsty when that's the case. He 
keeps us cutting up imaginary foes in the Long Valley to 
.such an extent that there's no getting leave at any price.” 

“ I understand,” laughed Miss Skelton. “ Theoretical 
fighters are like the bad riders, who always have so much 
more to say about the run than the men who saw it. ” 

Miss Skelton viewed with no little gratification the 
stealthy glances which the estranged pair stole at each other, 
and could not f6r the fun of the thing resist being rather 
empressee to Captain Maltby in her manner, not a little to 
that dragoon's discomfiture, and, as the mischievous Lucy 
could see, also rather to the disquietude of her fair vis-a-vis. 

It was with a sense of relief that Maltby collected Miss 
Skelton's belongings from beneath the table when the 
ladies made their move to the drawing-room. It at all 
events meant a brief respite, and would give him time to 
consider what he had better do under the circumstances. 
To account for Ms non-appearance at Holton ever so 
lamely seemed impossible. No, he must manage to avoid 
all conversation with Miss Harwood to-night, and to- 
morrow he must Make his escape, on some pretext, from 
Midden. But if pis thought he could avoid Miss Harwood, 
now that she was located under the same roof with him, 
even for one night, he must have been sorely innocent of 
feminine wiles. (To do him justice, he quite understood 
the difficulties of his position. Speak to her, of course, 
he must; a tete-a-tete was the thing to be guarded against, 
and he clung to the idea that it would be possible to avoid 


216 


THE OUTSIDER. 


that. However, he was destined to have an auxiliary on 
whom he little reckoned. If Miss Harwood was resolved 
to come to an explanation with him, Miss Skelton, from a 
sheer spirit of devilry, was resolved she should not. It 
was not that Lucy had any idea of making Ois dance to 
her tabor, but she had no intention that the lovers should 
come to an understanding all at once. She was not a bad- 
hearted young woman, and being privately convinced that 
Cis was proof against her own fascinations would have had 
no objection to putting things right between him and Julia, 
but she must be allowed to have her fun out of the drama, 
and then, after a little, she would be quite ready to gently 
insinuate that they were foolish children, aiid bring about 
an interview which could hardly help dispelling the 
clouds. 

ISTo sooner had he entered the drawing-room than, seeing 
Miss Harwood sitting well within the general circle, Cis 
resolved to take the bull by the horns, and get his meeting 
with J ulia over at once. He sat down by her, and as he 
did so, said: 

“ I dare say you are surprised to see me in Barkshire, 
but I got an unexpected few days* leave at the last 
moment; and though I could not get to Holton, it was 
something to get to Barkshire — to have lived near the rose, 
you know.” 

“ Don't talk nonsense, Captain Maltby,'' replied Julia, 
with a laugh, in which there was just a shade of asperity. 

“ Well, you see. Miss Harwood, that I couldn't come to 
Holton,” and here Cis tugged at his mustache, and looked 
hopelessly around for inspiration. 

£< Because you were coming to Midden,” inteposed Lucy 
Skelton. “ He is not like that famous bird of the Irish- 
man's, and can't be in two places at once. You can't have 
a monopoly, my dear, of all the best shots in the king- 
dom. Partridges at Midden require killing just as much 
-as they do at Holton. And Captain Maltby, for once, has 


THE OUTSIDEK. 


217 


done us the honor,” and here Lucy swept the dragoon a 
laughing courtesy. 

Well, we were all disappointed not to see you at Hol- 
ton,” remarked Miss Harwood, “ especially old Dickenson, 
who has much belief in your powers.” 

“ And now, Julia, dear, you are going to sing us some- 
thing?” remarked Miss Skelton, and Cis hugged himself 
in the belief that he was extricated from his difficulties. 

Miss Harwood complied at once with her friend's re- 
quest. She was quite awake to the maneuver, and more 
than ever determined to bring Cis Maltby to account. 
Miss Skelton also sung, and therefore Julia deemed that 
her turn must come, but that young lady was cunning of 
fence, and when in due course she had to go to the piano 
she contrived to take Cis with her to turn over the music. 

Miss Harwood was temporarily discomfited; but she was 
resolute to carry her point. As daughter of the house, 
Lucy Skelton had to look after the guests, and now and 
again was compelled to relax her vigilance. 

Twice more did she dexterously interpose; but at last she 
had to say good-night to plump Mrs. Balderby, the wife of 
the rector of the parish, and in that brief interval Miss 
Harwood seized tier opportunity. Motioning Cis to take 
the seat beside her on the sofa, she said, gravely: 

“ Ko nonsense. Captain Maltby, please, but why would 
you not come to Holton this year?” and the soft pleading- 
tone in which the question was asked, and the glance that 
accompanied it, would have upset the resolutions of a man 
made of sterner stuff than Cis. 

I didn't think I should be able to get away,” rejoined 
the dragoon, in ^that half-hesitating manner which always 
convinces its heaters that the speaker is lying. 

“ Now, Captajn Maltby,” rejoined Julia, 6 6 that is not 
the real reason, (and you know it. Was it because you 
were afraid of meeting my friend, Mrs. Welstead, there?” 

“ You are going a little too far, Miss Harwood,” rejoined 


218 


THE OUTSIDER,. 


Cis, who had quite recovered his self-possession now that 
the battle had commenced in earnest. “ You are aware 
that I do not approve of that lady, and think it a great 
pity that you should have made her acquaintance. 

“ If you had only waited to hear what I had to say that 
day in the Row, you would have found that I could not 
well help it. She is a very fascinating, and, I believe, a 
very ill-used, though perhaps an imprudent, woman. We 
Harwoods are loyal to our friends, and stand by them, 
though they be on the losing side.” 

“ It is not for me to dictate who shall be your friends,” 
rejoined Ois, sullenly. “ Mrs. Welstead has made herself 
so notorious this season that I wonder your people approve 
of the intimacy. ” 

“ They don't,” replied Julia, lowering her voice. 
“ They won't have her at Holton, and that is the reason I 
am here. Hush! I will tell you all about it to-morrow. 
I am in an awful scrape. Don't you turn, against me too,” 
and the dark eyes glanced up into his face with a piteous 
expression, which Lucy Skelton, who had joined them just 
in time to catch, pronounced exasperatingly perfect. 

There was no further opportunity of saying more just 
then, but as Cis handed Julia her bed-room candlestick, he 
said: “ I hope you'll come out and look at us to-morrow. 
I am told we shoot close round the house.” 

With a bright smile and a nod in the affirmative, the 
young lady tripped upstairs, and Cis thought that flight 
from Midden, which at dinner had seeined such an impera- 
tive necessity, might be at all events postponed for the 
present. Miss Harwood taking up with Mrs. Welstead in 
haughty defiance of his expressed advice was one thing. 
Miss Harwood in trouble because she had; done so was quite 
another. j 

' e came into 



You would 


not confess that you and Captain Maltfyy had quarreled. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


219 


and to punish you I resolved that you should have no chance 
of an explanation this evening; but you were too many 
for me, and I think your difference, whatever it might be, 
is as good as settled now.” 

“ Yes, I think we are friends again, now,” replied Julia. 

“ Friends,” laughed Lucy, “ why, you goose, the man’s 
over head and ears in love with you, and has been ever so 
long, had he but known it. ” 

“You think he knows it now, then?” said Julia, de- 
murely. 

“ Yes, I think he knows that, and something more be- 
sides, my dear. Good-night,” and with an arch smile 
upon her lips. Miss Skelton took her departure. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“ PROSPECTING THE ‘ PLANT. * ” 

Great w^s the sense of relief that Algy Welstead felt 
upon being assured of Mile. Therese's departure. He 
could hardly realize at first that he was again free, and 
most heartily did he admit that the bonds of marriage 
were light compared to the fetters of an illicit attachment. 
He hardly knew at first what to do with his regained lib- 
erty, and the thought of endeavoring to make up matters 
with his wife shot seriously through his brain. In fact, 
the only thing that prevented his making overtures to Thea 
in this direction was a conviction that it was hopeless to 
suppose they would be accepted. It was hardly likely, he 
thought, that Thea would condone the insult he had put 
upon her, and consent to live with him once more. Then, 
again, he did not exactly know how to approach her; a 
thing of this sort could only be arrived at through the good 
offices of mutual friends, and the friends that Thea had 
made to herself had never been friends of his. In the 


220 


THE OUTSIDER. 


meantime he resolved to keep a jealous eye upon Mus- 
grave's intimacy with his wife. Let him but see fair ex- 
- cuse for it, and there was nothing he would like better than 
to demand a heavy reckoning at Hugh's hands. 

Welstead little thought that there was one lurking in his 
neighborhood with the sole intention of demanding a reck- 
oning from him as soon as he could compass it. Vile, 
ignoble it might be; but M. Duprat, having been legally 
advised that he was little likely to obtain damages to any 
extent from the hands of an English jury on the score of 
his wife's infidelity, was only pondering how he was to ob- 
tain his share of Welstead 's wealth. He hovered round the 
house in Portland Place like a fly round a honey-pot. He 
had been inside; he had seen, through the dining-room 
door, the plate on the sideboard; he had seen the rich 
ornaments, china, silver, and articles of virtu strewed lav- 
ishly about the drawing room, and his soul lusted after 
their possession. His wrath had been unbounded on the 
discovery of his wife's flight, and, had he been able, he 
would at once have tracked her to her hiding-place, nor left 
her till he had stripped her of her last sovereign and last 
ring. But mademoiselle had been too cunning in her 
arrangements, nor was M. Duprat in possession of funds 
to institute an elaborate inquiry as regards her haven of 
refuge. Things were getting desperate with him; he was 
at dead low water, and money he must have somehow. 
Scruples he had none; the sole question was how he could 
obtain it easiest, and at least risk. Was Welstead a man 
from whom it was possible to wring money by intimida- 
tion? Was he, in short, a man upon whom it would be 
possible to levy blackmail? He was industriously collect- 
ing information on this point, and by dint of being — strait- 
ened in means as he was — liberal in the matter of tipping, 
had got upon rather friendly terms with Mr. Magnum, the 
butler informing his intimates that, “ considering he was a 
foreigner, M. Duprat was a very affable free-spoken gentle- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


2:>l 

man. Speaks 'his English with an accent, you know, out 
considering his disadvantages, poor fellow, really very 
creditable.” 

That Mile. Therese had domineered over Mr. Welstead 
he easily ascertained, but that didn't surprise him. He 
knew his wife's temper thoroughly; he knew that he had 
acquired his own power over her chiefly through the medium 
of sheer physical terror, but he knew also her violent dis- 
position, and that such ascendency would be won by very 
few men, and unless attained at the very beginning would 
never be acconrplished at all. 

Still, from what he could pick up, Mr. Welstead was no 
child to be frightened by shadows. He was not one of 
those timid men who would make any sacrifice sooner 
than have their name dragged before the public. He 
had had his name dragged before the public in connection 
with his turf tactics on more than one occasion, and shown 
the most perfect unconcern at the adverse strictures dealt 
out to him by the press, With regard to Mile. Therese, 
what exposure had. he to dread? As far as the mere scan- 
dal of that affair went, his name had been the talk of the 
town for the last two years. It was scarcely likely that 
any man would pay money for the burial of a scandal 
which had not only been public property so long, but had 
well-nigh worn itself threadbare, much less such a man as 
Mr. Welstead. 

“No," muttered M. Duprat, as, in accordance with a 
habit he had lately contracted, he smoked his cigar up and 
down Portland Place. “ This Mr. Welstead has a little 
too much experience of life to be frightened out of his 
money, and I am legally advised that when one interests 
one's self so little about one's wife as I have done for the 
last three years, that an English jury would have no con- 
sideration for my wounded honor. Fat-headed fools! Is it 
my fault that they compel me to administer the law myself: 
It is absolutely necessary that I have some compensation 


223 


THE OUTSIDER. 


for my outraged feelings. "What the law refuses to give I 
must take with my own hands. ” 

Cunning as a fox, rapacious as a wolf, M. Duprat had 
for years lived upon the weaknesses of his fellow-creatures. 

It was but rarely that he ventured to go positively out- 
side the law — on the boundary line he hovered invariably; 
but card sharping and lying and cozening were more to his 
taste than actual crime. Still, he had upon more than one 
occasion committed himself, though so far without detec- 
tion. 

He was well known to the French police as a suspicious 
character; but so far there was nothing positive recorded 
against him. 

Having come to the above conclusion, M. Duprat sat 
himself clown before the house in Portland Place, as a gen- 
eral does before the city he intends to beleaguer. Burg- 
lary, although not altogether unknown to M. Duprat, was 
in his opinion a rather clumsy and inartistic method of 
what he termed “ relieving his necessities;” but as at the 
present moment he saw no other means of obtaining his 
money he determined to see what he could do in Portland 
Place. Since the departure of Mile. Therese he had easily 
ascertained that the house was in a great measure shut up. 

The servants had all been discharged with the exception 
of Mr. Magnum, the cook, and a liouse-maid; while Mr. 
Welstead had reserved only his study, bedroom, and the 
dining-room for his own use. The cook and house-maid 
slept at the top of the house. Mr. Welstead's room was on 
the second floor, whilst the butler reposed in his pantry, 
which was at the back of the house on the ground-floor, 
sleeping as a butler should do, amidst the silver which it 
was his duty both to polish and protect. No particular 
difficulty as far as the garrison went, thought M. Duprat, 
only two men in the house. One of these — Mr. Welstead 
— would probably know nothing of the affair till the next 
morning, while, as for Mr. Magnum — well, the idea of 


THE OUTSIDER. 


22 3 


Mr. Magnum in his night-shirt, confronting an armed 
burglar, tickled M. Duprat immensely. The more M. 
Duprat meditated over this idea the more pleased he was 
with it. It seemed to him not onty extremely practicable, 
but an exploit that might be carried out single-handed, 
with little danger and with considerable profit. He was so 
tickled with the idea that he took lodgings in Beaumont 
Street, so as to be near at hand for studying the citadel he 
was bent on attacking. To be conversant with the cus- 
toms of the inmates was, of course, the first thing, and M. 
Duprat speedily discovered that Mr. Welstead now rarely 
dined at home, but, after having returned there to dress, 
betook himself most probably to his club to spend his even- 
ing, and let himself in with a latch-key in the early morn- 
ing. 

Now to a man of M. Duprat's ingenuity a door simply 
guarded in that way seemed to offer singular facilities. In 
his experience, the latch-locks of London were of a very 
simple character, so simple indeed, that on his first arrival 
in our metropolis, when he had taken up his cpiarters in 
the midst of the club lodgings that lie about the purlieus 
of St. James, he jestingly declared it was pretty well possi- 
ble to open most of the doors in these streets with a tooth- 
pick. Be that as it may, that many of the doors would 
yield to the same latch-key there can be little doubt. The 
Frenchman's one idea of plundering the house was, that if 
he could only let himself into the house a little after mid- 
night, he would only have Mr. Magnum to confront, and 
have ample time to depart with his plunder before Mr. Wel- 
stead returned from his club. The latch-lock, ah! that he 
thought would give him very little trouble; by hook or by 
crook he would very soon contrive to get hold of a key that 
would answer his purpose. The sole difficulty M. Duprat 
saw in the business was the carrying off his booty when he 
had got it; plate, no doubt, is valuable, but plate also is 
bulky, and though a knowing hand like Duprat was not 


THE OUTSIDER. 


2U 

likely to fall into the mistake of attempting to carry off 
dish-covers and articles of that description, still, to make a 
good sweep out of Mr. Welstead's house he felt would re- 
quire something approaching a sack, in which to stow the 

booty. 

The more the adventurer turned this over in his mind, 
the more convinced he became, much as it went against his 
inclinations, that it would be necessary to have a confeder- 
ate. He had had confederates before, in scores of nefarious 
schemes, but then they were brother rascals on whom he 
could trust and rely. Men of his kind are never a week 
in a capital without getting touch of the predatory hordes 
therein. 

There is a freemasonry amongst the criminal classes of 
ah nationalities, but when you come to the aristocracy of 
crime, it is not so easy. The hierarchy of the profession 
stand aloof from the vulgar herd, and are reticent about 
making acquaintances unless properly introduced. Xow 
M. Duprat had so far no acquaintance in London with 
whom he cared to be associated in a delicate operation of 
this kind. He thought rather regretfully of one or two of 
his old Paris comrades on whom he could thoroughly have 
depended, and then suddenly the idea occurred to him, 
“ from Paris to London it is a mere bagatelle; why not 
send for one of them?” Jacques Bassurge! surely a vent- 
ure of this kind would suit him. True, he spoke English 
but badly, still M. Duprat thought that would matter 
little; he himself spoke it fluently, though with a strong 
foreign accent, not worth preserving in this narrative. So 
to Jacques Bassurge a letter was forthwith dispatched, ad- 
vising that adventurous gentleman that there was a lucra- 
tive speculation in London well worthy of his attention, 
and in which he might take shares, did it seem good to him. 

Jacques Bassurge speedily responded to his old comrade's 
summons. Like M. Duprat, his funds were at a low ebb, 
and it was absolutely necessary that he should bring off a 


THE OUTSIDER. 


225 


coup of some kind, to replenish his exchequer. A consul- 
tation between the pair speedily resulted in the conclusion 
that there was no risk to speak of in the affair, and that it 
jjromised to be extremely profitable. Neither of the men 
were professional burglars, and were no adepts in the use 
of either “ jimmy " or center-bit, but Duprat was clever 
at the manijHilation of locks, and they had perpetrated some' 
notable hotel robberies conjointly. Had the door of Wel- 
stead's house been defended by bolt and chain, the idea of 
plundering it would never have suggested itself to Duprat; 
but as he said, “ It is a mere matter, Jacques, of a cab and 
a latch-key. I will find the latter, it must be your busi- 
ness to find the former — a cabman who can be blind if he 
is only well paid for it.” 

“ I don't know this London very well, I have never been 
here ‘ on business,' but a driver of this description is, I 
take it, no more difficult to find here than in Paris." 

“ We* shall want a good big box, one of those ship bags 
for soiled linen, and a hand-bag. Only let me get into the 
house unperceived, with my empty baggage, and then every- 
thing is simple — I come out as a gentleman going to the 
Continent by a night train. You help place my baggage 
on the cab and the thing is done," said Duprat. 

“ If you have made no mistake about the household, can 
only muzzle the butler, and the latch-key works properly, 
it should be easy," replied Bass urge. 

“ There is positively no risk whatever, my friend. The 
one little bit of juggling required in the transaction is for 
me. I have to a little bamboozle my esteemed friend, Mr. 
Magnum. That ancient and estimable servitor has already 
a warm feeling toward me, on account chiefly, I imagine, 
of the pecuniary compliments I have thought it judicious 
to make him. He has a further interest in me, Jacques; 
no woman is so curious as your ancient domestic, and upon 
the chance of discovering what are my relations, or what is 
8 


226 


THE OUTSIDER. 


my business, with Mademoiselle Therese, he will always 
sacrifice half an hour. 99 

“ Ha!” said Bassurge, 4 4 the domestic that talks is the 
ass that will drive. It is from him I presume that you 
gathered your information concerning the menage . In 
what light does he regard your” 

“ In what light should he? I am the friend of Made- 
moiselle Therese; what was Mademoiselle Therese two 
years ago: the femnie-de-chambre! Ah, well, Mr. Magnum 
regards me as somewhere about his own level, so much the 
better for our purpose . 99 

Bassurge’s only reply was a grunt of interrogation. 

“ You don’t understand,” exclaimed Duprat. “ To 
gratify his curiosity about’ Mademoiselle Therese’s ante- 
cedents, Mr. Magnum occasionally invites me into his pan- 
try to have a friendly glass of wine. Well, the occasion 
will come when Mr. Magnum will become drowsy over 
that glass of wine, and then, Jacques, I think there will be 
no further difficulty about the key.” 

“ Good,” observed his companion, “ that jioint is settled. 
The sooner you and this Magnum have another glass to- 
gether the better. For me, I go down to Leicester Square 
to inquire amongst our compatriots with regard to a trust- 
worthy cabman. It is necessary, my friend, to have an 
honest driver on these occasions . 99 And with that Jacques 
Bassurge betook himself to his abode in the above-men- 
tioned locality. 

M. Duprat lost no time. The very next day he called 
on Mr. Magnum in the afternoon, and inquired anxiously 
if anything had been heard of Mile. Therese. “ It is a 
very annoying thing for me,” continued Duprat; “ you see 
I have come all the way over from Paris to arrange a little 
matter of business with her, which entitles me to some three 
thousand francs. I only want her signature to one or two 
documents, and here she disappears in this unaccountable 
fashion; but the family were always flighty,” and then M. 


THE OUTSIDER. 


227 


Duprat proceeded to narrate sundry apocryphal anecdotes 
of Mile. Therese's previous career which so tickled the 
butler's curiosity that he could do no more than ask M. 
Duprat to step into the pantry and have a glass of wine. 

Mr. Magnum, at this time, could depend pretty well on 
having his afternoons to himself. His master was seldom 
in from luncheon until it was time to dress for dinner, and 
even then, three days out of four, took the latter meal at 
his club. Duprat was quite as well aware of this fact as the 
butler, and therefore knew that they could reckon on a 
comfortable hour over that glass of wine, should it suit 
them. He cordially accepted Mr. Magnum's invitation, 
and though the strong wines in which his host reveled were 
rather repellent to his Gallic palate, he was enthusiastic in 
praise of the old port or madeira, while his quick eyes roved 
round the room in search of that key which was the present 
object of his desire. He had little difficulty. As he con- 
jectured, Mr. Magnum had a latch-key, as well as his mas- 
ter, and kept it on the mantel-piece of his pantry, a place 
that would naturally occur to most people as its most con- 
venient receptacle. Now there was the key — how to obtain 
some five minutes alone! 

“Magnifique!” exclaimed M. Duprat, still debating 
this point in his mind, as he sipped the famous old port. 
“Hah! mon ami , my compatriots they do not understand 
these splendid vintages. " 

“ No! no, mossoo, you can't help it — it ain't your fault. 
You're weakly creatures naturally. A good after-dinner 
claret even is a bit too much for you. And mind, I don't 
say this as a fact, but there was a gentleman dining here, 
a month or two back, who vowed that at a party which he 
was at in Paris the port was iced ! Now ours is a great 
profession, and as a humble member of the guild all I say 
is this, what's the use of you Frenchmen a-having a guillo- 
tine if you don't use it?" 

“ Ho! ho! Mr. Magnum," laughed Duprat. “ Good, 


228 


THE OUTSIDEB. 


very good! Ah, your little story amuses me much; but 
the gentleman who recounted that tale is a farceur. We 
know a little better than that in Paris! Stay, there is a 
knock at the door,” and indeed the reverberation of the 
knocker was palpable throughout the house. 

“ Don't fidget! mossoo, don't fidget!” replied Mr. Mag- 
num. “ Susan's on duty. She is a very decent girl, and 
we 9 re out of town. " 

Duprat's face fell. He had planned this little diversion 
with his confederate, and Bassurge played his part ex- 
tremely well, but the girl who answered the door had got 
her orders, and knew better than to interfere with Mr. 
Magnum when he was entertaining a friend in the pantry. 
But the cunning Frenchman was a long way off the end of 
his resources. Jacques Bassurge had departed but a few 
minutes when Duprat, his face apparently writhing with 
pain, sprung from his chair, and limping round the room 
as if he had a cork leg, exclaimed: 

“Ah! Mon Dien! mon am\ r I die, I suffer agonies 
from the cramp. Ah, vite, a glass of brandy I beseech 
you!'' 

“ Hold on, mossoo, hold on,” cried the butler, snatching 
up a wine glass, “ the spirits is in the cellaret in the dining- 
room,” and with this Mr. Magnum vanished. 

In an instant Duprat had taken two disks of prepared 
wax from his pocket, each disk being inclosed in a circular 
card-board box. To obtain two distinct imprints of the 
key was the work of a minute, and by the time Mr. Mag- 
num returned to the pantry with a glass of brandy, the 
Frenchman was still stamping about the room with simu' 
lated cramp. 

Duprat sipped a little of the brandy, and in a few min- 
utes expressed himself as better, and shortly after, with 
many expressions of gratitude to his esteemed friend, M. 
Duprat took his departure. 

To have a couple of keys made from the casts he had 


THE OUTSIDER. 


229 


taken was of course easy, and watching his opportunity to 
try them was by no means difficult. They both worked, 
though one easier than the other, and this latter, with a 
little filing and doctoring Duprat had in a day or so induced 
to act so glibly that he could enter Mr. Welstead’s house 
when he pleased, as easily as that gentleman himself. 
Bassurge meanwhile had reported that he had got hold of 
a cabman who, although he did not stand very high in the 
estimation of the police, yet enjoyed a better reputation 
among some of the not so straitlaced citizens of the Soho 
district. Nothing remained now but to settle the night, 
and that was almost at their option. It was but to see that 
Welstead went out to dinner, which, as he did quite five 
nights a week, left a pretty liberal choice for the two con- 
spirators. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

‘ “ A SOCIALIST PLOT. ' * 

Duprat and his confederate were not likely to wait long 
before putting their scheme into execution. To begin with, 
they were coming to the end of their resources and it was 
quite essential that they should have a few pounds in hand 
to enable them to decamp with their plunder. Several 
ingenious enterprises of this nature have miscarried and 
brought their projectors to infinite grief from scarcity of 
funds for the carrying out of their conception. An artist 
like Duprat was not likely to fall into a mistake of this 
kind. 

“ To-morrow night, Jacques,” he said, “is as good as 
any other, providing circumstances are favorable. It is 
essential that Mr. Welstead should go out for the evening. 
I will call in the afternoon and see my esteemed friend, 
Mr. Magnum, and if the opportunity offers there will be 
no harm in doctoring his afternoon dose of liquor. ” 

“ You had better leave that alone, I think,” said Bas- 


230 


THE OUTSIDER. 


surge. “You tell me this Magnum is a connoisseur in 
wine; he is likely to discover if you play tricks with it. 
Men of his temperament sleep sound in the early part of 
the night. Bah! you will find him lying on his back, with 
his mouth open, and snoring like a whole pig-stye!” 

Duprat said nothing for a moment or two, and then ex- 
claimed: 

“ Perhaps you are right. I am afraid I must disturb 
my friend Magnum, as some of the property we want is 
kept in his pantry; but I doiPt think he is the man to 
make much disturbance with the barrel of a revolver star- 
ing him in the face.” 

“ Good!” replied Bassurge; “ provided we see Mr. Wel- 
stead safely off then, it is arranged for to-morrow night?” 

“Yes,” rejoined Duprat; “ as soon after midnight as 
the coast looks sufficiently clear. It will be necessary to 
seize an opportunity when there is no one much about, just 
to introduce ourselves and the baggage, and then all will 
be easy. ” 

The next evening saw the confederates sauntering up 
and down Portland Place, smoking their cigarettes, and 
keeping a keen eye on the door of Mr. Welstead’s house. 
At last they saw the butler come out and hail a hansom, 
and a few minutes later Mr. Welstead himself, wearing a 
light overcoat over his evening clothes, came out, got into 
the cab, and was driven rapidly away. 

“ Bring the cab to my lodgings at twelve. I have told 
the people I shall probably return to the Continent to- 
night. Our little affair in Portland Place will certainly 
not take us an hour. In fact, at about one, we shall be 
at Charing Cross Station, and leave for Dover by the first 
train in the morning . 9 ’ 

Bassurge nodded, and hurried away. 

Shortly after midnight a four-wheeled cab drove slowly 
round the corner of Weymouth Street, and pulled up im- 
mediately opposite Welstead's house; Duprat alighted. A 


THE OUTSIDER. 


231 


brief survey of the building, in which, save in the hall, not 
a light was visible; a glance up and down the street in 
which only a few odd passers-by were to be seen, and then 
he applied his latch-key and opened the door noiselessly. 
The gas was burning in the entrance, a bedroom candle- 
stick, and a box of matches were on the hall-table. All 
was still, and the inmates. of the mansion apparently 
wrapped in slumber. Duprat made a gesture of satisfac- 
tion. “ It almost seems as if my friend Magnum was ex- 
pecting me/* he muttered, with a smile. Another mo- 
ment, and, opening the door wide, he signed to Bassurge 
and the cabman to bring in the baggage. The safety of 
the scheme Duprat had devised consisted in its audacity. 
The few passers-by were not likely to suspect a gentleman, 
who appeared to have arrived at his home with his baggage, 
of being a thief intent on plundering the house; even a 
policeman, should he happen to pass, either as the baggage 
was conveyed in or out, would barely suspect he was wit- 
ness to a burglary. 

The one point which might prove risky in Duprat*s 
scheme was the surprise of Mr. Magnum. The butler 
might show light and give the alarm before he was over- 
powered, and if the women servants raised a cry of 
“ thieves** from the upper windows they would speedily 
attract attention. 

But some risk is inevitable in the appropriation of your 
neighbors goods, even in uncivilized communities/and it is 
always against the propagation of Socialist doctrines that 
those with anything to lose are so strongly opposed to them. 
The “ 1*11 go shares in your spoons ** theory is manifestly 
to the disadvantage of the proprietors of spoons, nor does 
the skilled workman precisely understand that his wages 
should be the same as those of his half-taught brother. 
However, our two Socialists had determined to take their 
share of Welstead*s plate, and Fortune seemed about to 
favor them. 


232 


THE OUTSIDER. 


No sooner was the luggage placed in the hall than Du- 
prat lit the candle, and, accompanied by Bassurge, made 
his way straight to the pantry. As he had anticipated, the 
door was unlocked. Duprat entered noiselessly, and when 
Mr. Magnum, roused by the light in his eyes, attempted to 
start up, a strong hand was on his throat, and a fierce voice 
hissed into his ear: 

“ If you make any noise, my friend, I shall kill you.” 

Now, Mr. Magnum possessed very fair courage; but for 
a stout, middle-aged man to be awakened from his first 
sleep, and confronted with a couple of men, the foremost 
of whom exhibited a revolver, was a tax on the nervous 
system to which it was pardonable he should succumb. As 
he said afterward: 

“ They, were armed, were two to one, and they had me 
down. What could I do but give in? which I did.” 

“ You will lie still,” said Duprat, sternly, “and don't 
dare to open your lips or it will be the worse for you. The 
keys of those cupboards; quick! Where are they?” With- 
out any reply. Magnum drew the keys from beneath 
his pillow and handed them to Duprat. “ Stand here, 
Jacques,” continued that worthy, “ and if he moves choke 
the life out of him.” And then Duprat proceeded to light 
another candle that he found in the butler's room, and 
opened the plate cupboards; that done, he disappeared into 
the hall, from which he returned in a few moments with a 
large bag. With a celerity indicative of considerable prac- 
tice, he proceeded to strip the cupboards of all the more 
valuable plate. That done, he proceeded to make the tour 
of the dining-room, and at the end of something like half 
an hour's hard work he had got his bag and his box pretty 
nearly full. Coming back to the pantry, he said: 

“ Now, Jacques, I'm going to take a turn upstairs; in 
the meantime, you keep guard over our friend here. ” 

Perfectly cool and methodical in his arrangements, M. 
Duprat picked up his handbag in the hall and ascended to 


THE OUTSIDER. 


233 


the drawing-room, rapidly proceeding to lay his hands on 
all the time-pieces and valuable knickknacks and ornaments 
that were strewn about the room. He had to make two 
or three journeys before he had finished with the floor to 
his satisfaction, and even then was not quite satisfied at 
having to leave several valuables behind him. But what 
could he dor His bag and box were full, and the remain- 
ing plunder he must leave behind. Having fastened his 
baggage all neatly up, Huprat once more returned to the 
pantry. 

“ Fm sorry to inconvenience you,” said he, sternly ad- 
dressing the hapless butler. “ I don’t want to hurt you, 
but I intend to tie your hands behind you. No nonsense!” 
he continued, as Magnum showed some signs of demur- 
ring. Remember, if you make any resistance you’ll get 
a tap on the head first, and have your hands tied after- 
ward. Don’t give trouble; jump out of bed, quick!” 

The pursy butler was neither of the age. nor physique to 
make a sudden onslaught on his two assailants. In sulky 
silence he obeyed Duprat’s commands, and in five minutes 
Bassurge had produced a bit of cord from his pocket and 
tied Mr. Magnum’s wrists tightly behind him. 

“Now,” said Duprat, “I’m going to lock you in till 
morning, and recommend you not to make any outcry for 
the next half hour, or it will be the worse for you,” and 
the precious pair, having drunk their victim’s health in a 
couple of glasses filled from his own particular bottle of 
madeira, turned the key upon him. 

“ Everything goes well!” exclaimed Duprat, as they re- 
gained the hall. “ Now, Jacques, just call the cabman 
up to give us a hand with the luggage, and then we will be 
off.” 

“ After thanking our stout friend inside there,” replied 
Bassurge, grinning and jerking his thumb over his shoul- 
der in the direction of the pantry, “ for a very pleasant 


234 


THE OUTSIDER. 


evening/* and with that he let himself out of the door* and 
to his great dismay could see nothing of the cab. 

Now, this was the commencement of the turn of fortune 
against the two adventurers. So far the thing had been so 
absurdly easy, that the plundering of a house guarded only 
by a latch-lock, situated in any quiet square or street, 
would seem to olfer mere nightly amusement for those who 
make burglary a profession; but the unforeseen is wont to 
arise in the best laid schemes of this nature, and what M. 
Duprat had overlooked was, that a cab waiting outside a 
house in Portland Place at that hour of the morning was 
likely to attract the attention of a passing policeman or 
passenger, and its prolonged waiting certain to arouse his 
curiosity. Now this is what had happened, but still more 
unfortunate^, the observer happened to be a gentleman, 
who beguiled by the beauty of the night, had elected to walk 
home from his club at the corner of Stratford Place, and 
enjoy his cigar. On turning into Portland Place he was 
not a little surprised to see a cab drawn up nearly opposite 
his own door. Algernon Welstead, for it was he, did not 
at first connect the cab with anything possible going on in 
his own house; he only wondered what- the deuce it was 
doing there; and not feeling the least inclined for sleep, 
lit another cigar and strolled slowly up and down the pave- 
ment, while he smoked it. Every time he turned, there 
stood the cab, and at length he began to feel quite in- 
terested in what sort of a fare it could be waiting for. Still 
he did not connect it in the least with his own dwelling. 
But by this time the cabman had awoke to the fact that he 
was under observation. His employers had taken him into 
their confidence as little as might be, but he did know that 
they had no desire to attract notice. It was quite evident 
that this gentleman was watching him; the best thing he 
could do, he thought, was to drive slowly up toward the 
Regent's Park, and then turn and come slowly back again. 
True, he had been told to wait, and Duprat had warned 


THE OUTSIDER. 


235 


him that he might be an hour; but then on the other hand 
he was watched. He would not be away five minutes; yes, 
it would be best — and forthwith he put his idea into execu- 
tion. 

He had not got above a hundred yards from the door be- 
fore it was opened by Bassurge, who, to his great dismay, 
found the cab gone; but a glance up the street showed him 
the missing vehicle jogging slowly away, and he' at once 
started in pursuit of it. 

“ Halloo, it strikes me I am personally interested in 
this/* muttered Welstead, upon seeing a man issue from 
his, Welstead*s, door-way. “ What the deuce can it mean? 
However, 1*11 precious soon know,** and, quickening his 
pace, he gained his threshold, and was about to apply his 
latch-key when he perceived that the door was not quite 
closed. He threw the door open and found himself face 
to face with Duprat. 

For a moment the two men glared at each other in 
mutual astonishment, but a glance at the baggage in the 
hall, the strange face, the accomplice, and the cab, flashed 
across Welstead *s mind like a revelation. Robbery was the 
object of these men, and he was not quite the individual to 
submit to be plundered quietly. 

The door stood open behind him, and with a resonant 
cry of “Police! Police!** he threw himself upon Duprat 
like a wild cat. His life had been full of worries of late, 
and the chance of thus blowing off the steam fairly intoxi- 
cated him. The Frenchman, although taken aback by 
Welstead *s sudden rush, was by no means averse to come 
to close quarters with his foe. Welstead, as before said, 
was a slightly built and rather effeminate-looking man. 
Duprat saw that he had, physically, the best of his foe, 
and though he recoiled for a moment, it was only for the 
purpose of aiming a cowardly kick at his opponent, which 
fell short. He knew that he had not a moment to spare. 
A door wide open — the gas burning — a struggle in the hall! 


236 


THE OUTSIDER. 


Added to which that cry of “ Police!" must surely have 
reached some wayfarer's ears. The game was up, there 
was not a moment to be lost. He in his turn rushed on 
his foe, hoping, by sheer weight and strength, to bring 
him to the ground, and thus to force his way past him. 
But Walstead had learned the use of his hands at college, 
and, indeed, been accounted a very neat hand with the 
gloves in his younger days. He met the Frenchman's rush 
with a beautifully straight left-hander, which staggered 
Duprat for the moment, but a life of habitual dissipation 
had relaxed the muscles of Welstead's arm, and the blow 
lacked power. The Frenchman was fighting for liberty, and 
reckless. In another moment he had closed with his an- 
tagonist. threw him in the struggle, and came down heavily 
on the top of him. 

But Welstead was game to the backbone, and fought 
mutely and grimly as a fox. He was down, he was 
worsted, but no cry escaped his lips, and he clung to his 
conqueror tenaciously as a bull-dog. 

“ Sucre tonnerre ! Let me go, fool!" growled Duprat, 
in hoarse, guttural tones, as he struggled for freedom. 
“ Let me go, or it will be the worse for you," and wrench- 
ing himself half free he had nearly struggled to his feet 
when Welstead gripped him round the leg and once more 
brought him to his knees. Mad with the lust of battle, 
the Frenchman had lost all power of cool judgment. His 
sole impulse was to escape, and with a furious cry of “ Let 
me go, or your blood be on your own head," he drew his 
revolver, and with one more violent wrench endeavored to 
free himself from W elstead's tenacious grip, but in vain. 
Though down, his enemy clung tenaciously to his grip. 

Prefaced by another fearful imprecation, Duprat ex- 
claimed: “ Then die, fool, in your obstinacy!" and with- 
out another word discharged his revolver into the body of 
the prostrate man. 

Welstead's hold relaxed at once, and Duprat rushed 


THE OUTSIDER. 


237 


from the house, the revolver still smoking in his hand, only 
to find himself in the arms of a policeman, who, with some 
half dozen passers-by, had been attracted by \\ elstead’s 
cry, the open door and burning gas. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

* ‘ TARE^ R^ED -HANDED. 99 

The cabman was just turning his vehicle when Bassurge 
reached him. Ere the Frenchman could upbraid the man 
for not strictly obeying his orders, the driver uttered an 
ejaculation of surprise, and pulled up his horse as the cry 
of “ Police ” fell upon their ears. Calling to the cabman 
to follow him, Jacques ran to the assistance of his com- 
rade, but noticed that already some half-dozen belated 
wayfarers were speeding to the open door- way from which 
the gas streamed brightly across the pavement. Bassurge 
saw at a glance that the alarm was given, and Duprat’s es- 
cape was very doubtful. As for carrying off the spoil there 
was an end to all chance of that. Let two or three men 
take to running in the streets of a big city and they gather 
followers almost miraculously. The streets may appear 
well-nigh deserted, but a crowd is rapidly collected, and in 
such a case as this, tearing along it knows not where or 
why. Just then the sharp crack of a revolver rang 
through the night air, followed by wild cries of “ Fire!” 
“ Murder !’ 9 or such other codification of the presumed 
crime as the various imaginations of the hurrying crowd 
might suggest. At the report of the pistol Bassurge 
stopped. He felt that by that act Duprat had made his 
escape impossible. He was now probably a murderer as 
well as a robber; a policeman and a half-dozen or so other 
people had already gained the door-way, while a score or 
more men could be seen running from all directions toward 
the scene of the tragedy. Every side-street was rapidly 


238 


THE OUTSIDER. 


contributing its contingent when Duprat suddenly burst 
from the house only to find the strong grip of a policeman 
on his collar. For a second or two the constable was nearer 
to the land of shadows than he had been yet in all his ca- 
reer, and he actually felt the barrel of the revolver pressed 
against his chest, and could read murder in his prisoner’s 
eyes. Then Duprat saw that it would be useless, that the 
cab was not at hai istol away, sullenly 



resigned himself 


Bassurge had not 


ventured up to the door, he was near enough to see all that 
took place. As he rightly conjectured, nobody in the lit- 
tle crowd was likely to connect him with the attempted 
robbery. He was safe, unless confronted with Mr. Mag- 
num. It was out of his power to assist his comrade, but 
he determined to see what became of him. He continued, 
therefore, to hover on the verge of the knot, who still 
stood staring pertinaciously at the now closed door, for by 
this time there were half a dozen police officers on the 
spot, and they had withdrawn into the house, of which 
they had taken temporary possession, carrying their pris- 
oner with them. 

The first thing that arrested the attention of the officers 
was of course Welstead’s bleeding and senseless form in 
the hall, the second was the frantic cries for help proceed- 
ing from the pantry. To burst open the pantry-door and 
release Mr. Magnum from his bonds was the work of but 
two or three minutes. The butler was horror-stricken at 
hearing that his master was shot, but quickly pulling him- 
self together, and restraining his burning desire to unfold 
himself of the events of the evening, insisted upon his mas- 
ter being carried to his own bedroom, and his own medical 
man being sent for. The inspector, who had arrived to 
take charge of the case, at once directed both should be 
done, at the same time mentioning that a doctor had been 
already sent for, and even as he spoke a knock at the door 
announced his arrival. He was at once taken to the 


THE OUTSIDER. 


239 


wounded man’s bedside. He found Welstead still insensi- 
ble and breathing heavily, and after a brief examination 
shook his head, and determined to await the arrival of the 
colleague who he was informed was expected. 

Mr. Magnum’s narrative was a revelation to the police. 
For the first time they recognized, to use their own expres- 
sion, that “ there were two in it.” Still, as the inspector 
said, “ We have got the man who fired the shot; he had 
the discharged pistol S* his hand When taken, and no one 
else was seen to leave the house;” and then the inspector 
became absorbed in the puzzle as to how did the other man 
vanish into infinite obscurity. Mr. Welstead, the one per- 
son who could probably have solved the riddle, could be 
looked to for no sort of explanation for some days. Still 
the baggage in the hall, all stuffed with plate, as Mr. Mag- 
num had informed them it would be, corroborated the but- 
ler’s story that the man they had in custody had a confed- 
erate. 

“ Must have had,” muttered the inspector; “ such swag 
as that couldn’t be carried off without a partner and a cab. ” 

Duprat, after being searched and detained in the dining- 
room all night, had been conveyed in the early morning to 
Marlborough Street Police Station, and the energies of the 
detectives were now invoked to discover his previous his- 
tory and the identity of his confederate. 

In the evening papers the next day the most startling 
item in the latest intelligence column was headed: — 

46 Burglary and Attempted Murder in Portland 
Place. — We regret to say that the residence of Algernon 
Welstead, Esq., so well known in racing circles, was bro- 
ken into last night by two or three desperadoes, who seized 
the butler in his bed and bound him, and then proceeded 
to strip the house of all the plate and valuables they could 
lay their hands on. They had packed their plunder neatly 
up for removal, and, leaving one of their number behind 


240 


THE OUTSIDER. 


to readmit them, left temporarily in search, it is supposed, 
of a cab. At this period Mr. Welstead returned from his 
club, where he had been spending the evening, and let 
himself in with his latch-key. In the hall he was con- 
fronted by the remaining burglar, whom Mr. Welstead at 
once attacked or was attacked by. Any way, the result was 
a desperate struggle, which terminated in the burglar 
drawing a pistol and shooting the unfortunate gentleman. 
We regret to state that the wound is of the most serious de- 
scription, Mr. Welstead having been insensible ever since 
he received it, and the three medical gentlemen in charge 
are filled with the gravest apprehensions concerning the 
result. The cowardly scoundrel who fired the shot is, we 
are glad to state, in the hands of the police, but his com- 
panions, about whose number there seems to be not a little 
doubt, are still at large, and whatsoever knowledge the au- 
thorities may possess concerning them they keep to them- 
selves. ” 

There was not a little stir in club-land when this para- 
graph was perused by the readers of the evening journals. 
Liked or disliked, Welstead was a man known extensively 
in racing circles, and, further, he was a man of whom the 
London world generally had much knowledge. The auda- 
cious cynicism of his career had made him a man of mark; 
he might not be popular, but he had always been much 
talked about. The world was out of town; but of later 
days there is a very considerable portion of the world who 
slink back to the metropolis toward the end of September. 
Getting yearly on the increase, this tendency to return early 
to the capital; the landed interest is not what it was, and 
those cheery country-houses that were once open to young 
men, who could make themselves pleasant and shoot have 
now, perforce, had to close their hospitable portals. The 
impecunious youths, without owning an acre of land, who 
got their shooting for nothing, and wandered with their 


THE OUTSIDER. 


241 


guns and portmanteaus pleasantly through the land, now 
find autumnal life not half so rosy. Many of these man- 
sions are closed; on other estates the game is given to the 
tenants, and in most of the ancestral homes of the gentle- 
men of England there is a supervision of expenditure, little 
thought of in old times. However, these things had not 
come, to pass at the date of my story, although for many a 
year now, from the end of September to Christmas has 
been voted by no means an unpleasant time in London. 
The summer heat once over, there are plenty of people 
keen to hurry back to Babylon. 

Welstead's case created no little sensation; every rumor 
connected with the subject was listened to greedily. A 
man with the last bit of scandal about the affair might be 
sure of an audience. Duprat’s examination at Marlbor- 
ough Street was a thing society flocked to. The astound- 
ing line of defense that he thought proper to adopt, had 
electrified the public. Briefly he ha d ass erted that he haa 
come to remove property tcMlhich 3$|-wi$?claimed to be 
entitled. That the criminal assertedTifmself to be the hus- 
band of the Mile. Thercse, whose handsome face and'smart 
equipage were so well known in the park, set people chat- 
tering not a little. What had become of Mile. Therdse: 
demanded the public. And here the journals — in spite of 
their strenuous exertions to satisfy their patrons — were un- 
fortunately at fault. Mr. Magnum had been interviewed 
by more than one enterprising reporter. He rather liked 
it, and was quite willing to narrate the story of that event- 
ful night — interspersed with some quite imaginary details 
regarding his own heroic conduct — to any one willing to 
listen to him. But as regarded Mile. Therese he could say 
nothing further than that she had taken her departure, 
some three weeks previously, suddenly and without beat of 
drum, and that ueither he nor any of the other servants 
knew where she had gone to. 

Duprat’s examination at Marlborough Street did not last 


242 


THE OUTSIDER. 


long. He declined to say anything further regarding the 
transaction, and intimated through his solicitor that he 
would reserve his defense. Having heard the evidence of 
the police and Mr. Magnum, the magistrate committed him 
for trial, and Duprat was forthwith conveyed to prison. 

That an affair of this kind, which had become the talk of 
the town, and of which the papers were teeming, should 
fail to reach Thea's ears was impossible. Still, it was Mrs. 
Desmond who was the first to break it to her. Mrs. Wel- 
stead had been for a long solitary drive round the Regent’s 
Park, and on her return Mrs. Desmond met her and said 
quietly: 

“ There is a bit of very serious news, Thea! Your old 
house in Portland Place has been broken into, and Mr. 
Welstead, in a struggle with the burglars, has been seri- 
ously wounded. " 

“ Not killed, auntie!” she replied, almost in a whisper. 
“ Not killed? for Heaven's sake don't tell me that! We 
got on badly together, but it would be too terrible he should 
leave forever without a last few words passing between us. 
If I have much to forgive I also much need forgiveness!" 
and Thea, conscience-stricken at how far she had carried 
her flirtation with Hugh Musgrave, burst into tears, and 
sunk on the sofa. 

Yes! she had received brutal treatment at her husband's 
hands, but she was conscious that her own record was by 
no means clear. Algernon had never spoken to her about 
it, but she knew very well that in the first year of her mar- 
ried life she had given encouragement to Hugh Musgrave's 
tacit admiration, which she never ought to have permitted. 
And how had she behaved of late? — allowed him to make 
such open love to her that only a week ago he had dared to 
propose that they should elope together, and in her peni- 
tence Thea accused herself of being very little better than 
her husband. She had never loved him, she had married 
him without loving him, and he certainly had never set to 


THE OUTSIDER. 


243 


work to win her heart afterward; but still Thea recognized 
that she owed to this man all she possessed, and that when 
their separation, on which she had insisted, came to be dis- 
cussed, he had behaved to her with great liberality. While 
he was wealthy and prosperous, she had never desired to 
see him more; but now that he was stricken, perhaps even 
unto death, she felt that her place was at his bedside. Let 
him recover — well! then they could go their separate ways 
again, but if Heaven willed otherwise, Thea felt it would 
imbitter the remainder of her life should they part unrec- 
onciled. 

After her first burst of tears, Thea read the account of 
the burglary in the evening paper, and was then evidently 
wrapped in thought for about half an hour. At last she 
raised her head and said quietly: 

“ Auntie, I am going up to Portland Place. I must 
know how things stand there.” 

“ Do you think that will be wise, Thea? I am sorry to 
mention such a thing at such a time, but remember it is 
more than possible that you may be confronted by that 
woman. ” 

cc And if I am!” exclaimed Thea, her cheek flushed and 
her eyes flashing. “ I was never afraid of her when she 
was my servant; is it likely that I should heed her now that 
she is — what she is?” 

“ But it may not only be very awkward for }oa, but very 
unpleasant besides,” replied Mrs. Desmond. Ck You had 
better send up your maid. Take my advice, let her find 
out how the land lies. ” 

“ No,” said Thea. “ I will go myself. There must be 
some of the old servants left, and they will tell me more 
than -they will Price.” 

Mrs. Desmond knew from experience that it was useless 
to expostulate with Thea when she had determined on any- 
thing, and, moreover, at such a time as this, whatever his 


244 


THE 0UTS1DEK. 


sins against her might have been, few would have denied 
that the wife’s j)lace was at her husband’s bedside. There 
are hard pagan natures, relentless in their animosity, who 
neither forgive nor seek forgiveness even in their death- 
throes, but most of us, when the grave gapes for those who 
have injured us, would fain forgive as we hope to be for- 
given. 

Mrs. Welstead had already attracted attention in the ho- 
tel as the wife of the victim of the audacious burglary, 
which was at present the talk of the town. In the privacy 
of her own rooms she was of course free from intrusion, 
but she was aware, to her great annoyance, that no sooner 
had she occasion to pass down the corridors and staircase, 
of much furtive peeping and curiosity to obtain a glimpse 
of her. Dressing herself very quietly, and putting on a 
thick veil, Thea slipped down the staircase, out of the ho- 
tel, and hailed a hansom, thereby escaping the handful of 
spectators she would undoubtedly have encouraged had she 
delegated the calling of a cab to a waiter. Arrived at Port- 
land Place, she alighted, and having dismissed her convey- 
ance, knocked at the door of her husband’s house. It was 
opened by Mr. Magnum, who, not recognizing his mistress 
for a moment, stood mutely awaiting in the door-way for 
the visitor to speak. 

“ Don’t you know me, Magnum?” cried Thea, throw- 
ing up her veil. 

The old butler gave a start of surprise, and immediately 
made way for her to pass as he replied: 

“ Beg pardon, ma’am, I am sure, but I didn’t recognize 
you at first on account of the veil, and my orders is un- 
common strict about visitors.” 

“ How is my husband?” asked Thea, as Magnum closed 
the door. 

“ Bad, ma’am; very bad. Mr. Welstead is still uncon- 
scious. Those doctors won’t tell you quite what they think, 
and it’s just as likely they don’t know. But he’s to be 


THE OUTSIDER. 


245 


kept very quiet, and nobody but his nurses are allowed to 
see him.” 

“ I must see him, Magnum.” 

“ Well, ma’am, l don’t suppose those orders apply to 
you. Indeed, I know there’s a letter been sent to you, 
ma’am.” And without further preamble the butler led the 
way upstairs and tapped gently at the door of the sick 
man’s chamber. The nurse speedily appeared, and being 
informed who Thea was at once assented to her having a 
peep at her charge on condition that she made no noise. 
Mrs.* Welstead glanced anxiously at the bed on which her 
husband lay tossing restlessly in his trance. • The eyes were 
closed, and the pale face twitched now arid again with 
either pain or the distraught memories of the restless brain. 

“ Don’t despair, ma’am,” whispered the nurse, “the 
doctors say that is an improvement on the dull apathy that 
first possessed him, but the fever of his wound runs high 
just now. ” 

Thea nodded in assent to the nurse’s observation, and 
then her eyes glanced quickly round the room to note 
whether care had been displayed in the arrangement of it. 
Apparently she was satisfied with what she saw, for with- 
out further remark she retired from the apartment. 

Upon regaining the drawing-room she at once rang for 
Magnum, and upon that worthy making his appearance, 
said: 

“There’s nobody else staying in the house at present. 
Magnum, I presume?” 

For a moment the butler looked puzzled; then he awoke 
to the drift of his mistress’s question, and replied promptly: 

“ Not a soul, ma’am, but myself, the servant-girls, and 
the nurses.” 

“ Good,” replied Thea. “ Then tell them to get afroom 
ready for me at once, and another for my maid. I shall 
be back in three hours; and now call me a cab. ” 


246 


THE OUTSIDER. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

4 'very hear the wihnihg-post now, the a!” 

That Mile. Ther^se Gamier had a husband did not sur- 
prise the London world so much as her flight from Wel- 
stead's house, and the quidnuncs of the clubs were not 
long in putting the two together. 

“ It promises to be a rather interesting case, if every- 
thing comes out,” said Lord Collington, in the smoking- 
room of the Turf Club. 

“ Quite so,” replied Charley Wrey, “ but there's several 
things we should like to know that it is highly improbable 
we ever shall. Mile. Therese has vanished, and moreover 
it is impossible to connect her with the affair. She left a 
fortnight before the burglary, and has never been seen 
since. " 

“ Which does not follow that she had not something to 
do with it," replied Collington. “ Remember, this I)u- 
prat visited her once, at all events, according to Magnum's 
testimony/ ' 

“ Yes, but there's nothing to compel her return from 
abroad. The police could not demand her appearance, 
even if aware of her address in Paris. Then again, if she 
is Duprat's wife, that at once closes her lips. As for the 
idle story of the plate being her property, that, of course, 
is the ruse of a practiced scoundrel to, if possible, mitigate 
the view a jury will take of his misdeeds. It is all rubbish 
to suppose Welstead's plate was the property of Mile. 
Therbse, but a jury of family men, with their moral sensi- 
bilities outraged, might consider its possibility in their ver- 
dict. " 

“ You're right, '-Charley," rejoined Lord Collington, 

“ and depend upon it, we've got a very plausible and in- 


THE OUTSIDER. 


247 


genious scoundrel to deal with in Monsieur Duprat. But 
if Welstead don’t pull through, I think the British jury- 
man will bear burglary with violence foremost in his 
thoughts when it comes to the verdict.” 

“ Perhaps so. You call Duprat clever; like half these 
criminals he’s a very stupid man. What made him rush 
into the street with his revolver? He couldn’t use it there 
without immediate arrest, and committing murder before 
witnesses. If he had left it behind him in the hall, unless 
Welstead recovers, there would be no one to testify as to 
whether Duprat or his confederate fired the fatal shot.” 

“ Ingenious Charley! I’ve no doubt a great criminal 
adviser , I won’t say lawyer, has been drawn away in you. 
What did you do at Holton?” 

“ Slew partridges, and saw the Leger, but for the first 

time in my experience Holton was dull. Yes, sir, d d 

dull! Miss Harwood was away, Maltby never turned up— 
Hugh Musgrave did, and lie’s gone wrong, and is simply 
no use socially, at present.” 

“ I know what a country house party is that don’t quite 
pull together. They are a little tedious,” replied Lord 
Collington, with dreary recollections of some of these fes- 
tivities. “ Has the squire made his peace with Godfrey 
Lambton?” 

“ Oh, yes; there was no actual violence done, and mu- 
tual friends threw oil upon the troubled waters. Besides, 
a master of hounds must be of a placable nature, and God- 
frey’s wrath is not hard to appease,” and then the conver- 
sation drifted off upon other matters having no bearing 
upon this history. 

The morning after her call in Portland Place, Tliea 
drove up there with her maid and trunks, and established 
herself once again in the home that she had left, with a 
spirit of bitter humiliation and resentment, about three 
years ago. Now, her heart was filled with a great pity for 
this man whose sin against her bid fair to cost him his life, 


248 


THE OUTSIDER. 


for had it not been for his miserable intrigue with the ex- 
femme-de-chambre, M. Duprat would never have crossed his 
path, and the doctors made no secret of the gravity of his 
case. 

“ Sensibility, Mrs. Welstead, is slowly returning, but 
whether that means life, is another thing. In the first in- 
stance, he never opens his eyes, nor speaks, yet he tosses 
backward and forward in his prolonged slumber; the fever 
of his wound causes that, but it is a sure sign of returning 
animation. My own opinion is that he will recover speech 
and perfect consciousness as soon as the fever leaves 
him, but the prostration will be frightful, and that is what 
we shall have to contend against in aiding his battle with 
the Destroyer.” 

“ I understand,” said Thea. “ That means that nurs- 
ing — nursing of the most careful and unceasing vigilance — 
is the one chance of restoring him to life. I pledge you 
my word, doctor, he shall not want that. The nurses we 
have are good, but Fll look to it myself, and if that can 
save him Fll swear it shall not fail him.” 

From that out Mrs. Welstead was untiring in her devo- 
tion to her husband. She snatched such sleep as was ab- 
solutely necessary in the day-time, thinking the nurses 
were more likely to relax their attention in the weary night 
watches, but she trusted to them no more than she could 
help. This went on for some few days, Algernon manifest- 
ing increasing restlessness, but still remaining unconscious. 
At last his silence is broken — he speaks; incoherent babble 
as yet, but Dr. Kedfern is sanguine. 

e( All is chaos at present; we must give the mind time to 
disentangle itself, Mrs. Welstead. Quiet, please, and all 
the nourishment you can get him to take. The wound is 
dangerous, but if he does not slip through our fingers from 
exhaustion, not necessarily fatal. ” 

The sick mail’s wanderings at length take some coherent 
form — old racing scenes possess his mind. He is in the 


THE OUTSIDER. 


240 


Iron Stand at Ascot, and the field for the Hunt Cup come 
streaming over the crest of the hill. 

“ All right! AW re bang in front, next the rails on the 
far side. Beat, by Jove! Fordham’s hard at his horse 
already. No! he’s kidding! No! Yes, see, he steadies 
his horse. He comes again with a second run! Cock-a- 
hoop wins! Cock-a-hoop for a monkey!” 

Anon he is at the card-table. “ Play! I never saw such 
play. Four by honors, and we’ve lost the odd trick! AVJiy 
you didn’t lead trumps. Masters, when you had the chance, 
I can’t conceive,” and so he continued to rave of those 
pursuits in which his life had been mostly spent, but of the 
catastrophe that had brought him to this pass he uttered 
not one word, and Thea’s ears were also spared any allu- 
sion to her ci-devant lady’s-maid. 

Once only was Mrs. Welstead startled by an allusion to 
herself. “ AVife!” he suddenly exclaimed, after some in- 
articulate muttering, “ I tell you I have no wife,” and 
then he relapsed into complete silence. 

One afternoon when Tliea returned from the brisk, short 
afternoon walk she allowed herself, by the advice of the 
doctor, the nurse met her on the stair just outside the in- 
valid’s room, and said: 

“ You will find Mr. Welstead in possession of his senses 
again, ma’am. The fever has died out of his eyes, and, 
though he has not spoken, I feel sure he knows where he is, 
and that he has been very ill. ” 

Thea slipped quietly into her husband’s room, and one 
glance was sufficient to tell her that the nurse was to some 
extent right. She saw a gleam of recognition in the 
sunken eyes, followed by a troubled look of bewilderment, 
easy of interpretation. He could not understand her pres- 
ence there, and after watching her for a minute or two, 
closed his eyes, and gave up struggling with so intricate a 
problem. ' 


250 


THE OUTSIDER. 


Dr. Redfern, tlie next morning, at once confirmed the 
nurse's j udgment. 

“ The delirium has left him, Mrs. Welstead. He is in 
his right senses, but will still continue to wander in his 
mind at times from sheer weakness. You must pardon my 
touching on so delicate a point, but no doubt one thing that 
will puzzle him greatly will be your presence, and it will 
be perhaps just as well that he should see but little of you 
for the next few days. His wanderings you can't control, 
but give him no encouragement to converse otherwise. If 
he is very persistent in a question, answer it as briefly as it 
may be, but remember he is now going through his most 
critical time, and any excitement is of course extremely bad 
for a man in his exhausted condition." 

With the doctor's warning ringing in her ears, Thea, al- 
though unceasing in her guardianship, kept as much as pos- 
sible out of the sick man's sight. When she did appear, 
his eyes followed her with unmistakable curiosity, but he 
never attempted to address her, nor, for the matter of that, 
did he speak more to the nurses than was necessary to ex- 
press his wants. He recognized Dr. Redfern, and said to 
him one morning: 

“lam in a bad way, doctor. The cowardly brute shot 
me when I was down. Do you think I shall pull through?" 

“ No talking, my dear Mr. Welstead; that is for us. 
You're not to speak, mind. I will tell you all you ought 
to know. Yes, you are, and have been, very ill. If you 
can only keep very quiet, and be very patient, there is noth- 
ing to prevent your being about in a few weeks, and your 
own self again in due course. Hush, not a word. Yes, 
the burglar was taken red-handed, and is committed lor 
trial. The plate and other valuables which he had packed 
ready to take away with him never left your hall. My dear 
sir, you haven't lost a salt-spoon. Stop, don't tire your- 
self with talking. I know exactly what you want to know 
next. Yes, Mrs. Welstead is ' in the house, and helping to 


THE OUTSIDER, 


251 


nurse you, in the most devoted way, but I have her au- 
thority for saying that she will leave the house as soon as 
you are well enough to express a wish that she should do 
so. In the meantime, as your doctor, I tell you fairly — 
don’t be a fool, sir, and part with the best nurse of the 
three.” 

The worn and wearied man gazed anxiously into the 
doctor’s face for a moment, and then murmured: 

“ I don’t want to,” and turning over on his side, once 
more closed his eyes. - 

44 Tt will be touch and go,” muttered Dr. Redfern as he 
left the room. 44 Everything has been done that medical 
skill can compass. He has lacked nothing it was possible 
to suggest; the issue now is with Him who made us.” He 
looked into see Thea as he passed. 44 My dear madame,” 
said he, 44 your husband’s life now trembles in the balance. 
There is no more to be done; we can only wait and hope 
for the best. One thing only it is my duty to point out. 
Let his illness terminate which way it may, he is now per- 
fectly lucid, and quite capable of attending to any business 
that might be necessary in case of the worst. ” 

44 Thank you, Dr. Redfern,” replied Thea, sadly; 44 but 
there will be no need to trouble him about anything of that 
kind. He has been already quite sufficiently liberal to me, 
and I have no wish even to know his views as to the future 
disposal of his property.” 

44 I am glad that little woman is left all safely provided 
for,” muttered the doctor, as he stepped into his brough- 
am. 44 An odd thing Welstead couldn’t get on with a wife 
like that; but, ah! these matrimonial mysteries are more 
difficult to understand than the most complicated case we 
are ever called in about.” 

Welstead’s state puzzled his attendants not a little now 
that the delirium had left him; he was as taciturn as he 
had before been garrulous. Then he was continually talk- 
ing of past scenes of his life, now he rarely spoke. He 


252 


THE OUTSIDER. 


watched those about him closely and attentively. That he 
recognized his wife neither Thea nor the nurses had any 
doubt. His eyes followed her wherever she moved when 
in the room, and when she was. sitting still, Thea would 
feel almost uncomfortable at suddenly discovering his gaze 
fixed upon her. Yet he never addressed her. He would 
express his wants briefly to the nurses. To his wife, so 
far, he said nothing. He manifested no objection to her 
attentions; on the contrary, he seemed pleased to receive 
nourishment from her hand, and Thea thought she could 
read a grateful recognition of her services when she 
smoothed and rearranged his pillows. Sanguine Dr. Red- 
fern was not a whit disturbed on being told of his patient’s 
taciturn fit. 

44 All the better, my dear madame,” he exclaimed. 
44 Talking will only mean taking it out of himself, and he 
can’t afford to do that. It’s his extreme weakness that I 
am anxious about!” 

No one could say that the doctor spoke without due war- 
rant. Welstead’s prostration was pitiable to see, and a 
half-pained, half-querulous expression often passed over his 
face as he recognized how utterly helpless he was to do 
anything for himself. 

The days slipped by, and even Dr. Redfern began to shake 
his head over the invalid. Despite all the nourishment they 
could induce him to take, notwithstanding all the skill and 
careful attention which surrounded him, there could be no 
doubt that Welstead was losing strength. There is a point 
of weakness at which it is impossible to remain; one must 
either rally or die from sheer exhaustion, and there could 
be no doubt that Welstead had reached this critical period. 
Very grave was Dr. Redfern, as he walked down-stairs 
from the sick-room one morning. 44 It’s a case of forty- 
eight hours,” he muttered. 44 If, he does not take a turn 
for the better by that time it will be too late; the flame al- 
ready flickers in the socket. ” 


THE OUTSIDER. 


253 


Mrs. Welstead went into her husband's room just after 
the doctor had left. Dr. Redfern had been tolerably plain 
with her, and she knew that in all probability Algernon 
Welstead's course was well-nigh run. For the wreck of 
their married life she could not hold herself answerable, 
but she did pray that he might have strength given him to 
bid her farewell. She went up to the bedside, and as she 
did so, in a low voice her husband murmured, “ Thea!" 

“ Yes," said she, gently, as she took his wan, wasted 
hand in hers, “ I am here to nurse you back to life and 
strength again, but you must not talk. Let me do that." 

A faint pressure of his fingers, and then he whispered: 

“ It's coming back to me now. The fight with the 
scoundrel in the hall. He shot me when I was down, and 
you — how did you come here?" 

“ I heard, as all London did, of your struggle with the 
burglar; of how he had shot you, and been almost immedi- 
ately afterward captured with the pistol in his hand. I 
came at once to see that all human hands could do for you 
was done. You were delirious when I came. I have been 
here ever since." 

“ You have all done your best to pull me through, and I 
would as soon trust to Redfern as any one. But it's all no 
use; my race is run. And, Thea, I am very near the win- 
ning-post." 

“ Keep still, Algernon; you must not talk." 

“ It matters little now," he said, with a quiet smile. 
“ Give me a little brandy, or some of that ammonia stuff; 
I am so weak." 

She did as he asked her, and as she took the glass from 
his lips she signed to him imploringly to be silent. 

“ I have very few words to say," he continued, faintly, 
“ only this. I have been a bad husband to you, but I shall 
trouble you no more. Can you forgive me?" 

She leaned over him and kissed his wasted brow, and 


254 


THE OUTSIDER. 


then, falling on her knees by the bedside, fondled the thin 
hand in hers, as she murmured : 

“ I forgive you, Algernon, with all my heart. May God 
forgive us both our sins toward each other. " 

He was silent for a few minutes, and then said : 

“ Good-bye, and God bless you. I think I will go to sleep 
now . 99 

She rose and bent over him to arrange his pillows, and as 
she did so he murmured, faintly: 

“ Very near the winning-post now, Thea!'' and closed 
his eyes. 

When the nurse came in, a quarter of an hour later, she 
found Thea kneeling by the bedside, while Algernon Wei- 
stead slept the sleep that knows no waking. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

CONCLUSION. 

A snug little house in one of the small streets running 
off Berkeley Square, a plainly but neatly furnished dining- 
room, with the decanters still lingering on the table, and 
with their chairs pulled round to the fire in quiet enjoy- 
ment of an after-dinner cigar, sit two old acquaintances of 
ours. “ Well, Mr. Musgrave, I suppose it will be some 
time before I see you again. You tell me you have no 
wish to remain in England, still less to have anything more 
to do with racing, and you 9 re right ! If, thanks to me, 
you have had a good year, I only^ trust you'll keep your 
winnings. How is your time to stop; as for me, I can't 
tell you how proud I am to see you seated at my table! I 
shall do well, never fear, sir. It's not much more than 
four years ago that you chucked a sovereign to a penniless 
outcast, and now I am not only a capitalist and a well- 
known book-maker, but I am getting commissions to work 


THE OUTSIDER. 


255 


for some of the leading gentlemen on the turf, and you 
know’ what that means? It's being behind the scenes, and 
helping yourself whilst you are helping your employer.” 

“ Awfully good of you to say all this/' said Hugh, some- 
what drearily. “ You owe me very little. Yes, I shall go 
abroad, and I doubt if England will see me for at least two 
years. I am otf on Monday next, and don't suppose I shall 
see you again before I leave; but when I return, you may 
depend on it, you will know it as soon as any one.'' 

“ Sad business, this of Mr. Welstead's," rejoined Spar- 
row. “ He wasn't popular, but he will be a good deal 
missed, and he's done me many a good turn, though 
he didn't know it. He had a knack of winning when his 
horses stood at long odds. I suppose it will go hard with 
this Duprat? Strikes me they have quite enough evidence 
to hang him, and the judges come down nowadays pretty 
heavy on a burglar caught 6 upon the shoot.' " 

“Yes," rejoined Musgrave, “I should fancy there is 
little doubt that he will make an end of it in Newgate. I 
don't see how he is possibly to get off; still, he is a sharp 
fellow, and one can never say positively the rope is round 
a man's neck till after the verdict." 

None of his old friends had seen or heard of Hugh Mus- 
grave since he left Holton. He had made two unsuccess- 
ful attempts to see Thea once again after their last inter- 
view; then came the tragedy in Portland Place, and he 
learned that Mrs. Welstead was at her husband's bedside. 
The whole thing sobered him. His love for Thea had 
abated not a whit, but it was no time to plead a mad pas- 
sion in the presence of the Destroyer. Whether in years 
to come she would listen to his story he knew not, but an 
open grave gaped between them just now, and sealed his 
lips. He had made all his preparations to go abroad, and 
intended to give no intimation of his purpose to his friends. 
Where he was going he hardly knew; but before he did 
start he had determined to say farewell to Mr. Sparrow, 


256 


THE OUTSIDER. 


and nothing would satisfy the prosperous book-maker ex- 
cept Hugh dining with him in the new house he had just 
set up. This was a parting festival, but even Mr. Spar- 
row, partial as he was to his guest, could not but admit 
that he was not an amusing companion. He saw that 
Musgrave was absent, distrait , and ill at ease. Town talk, 
when it concerns gentlemen of the turf, is sure to pene- 
trate through professional racing circles, and Mr. Sparrow 
had some inkling that the Welstead case might have some- 
thing to do with his guest’s low spirits. However, of 
course, he did not touch on that point, but as he bade his 
guest farewell, he said : 

“ The Mazeppa cigar-case will go< racing with me this 
many a year, I hope; but as for the repeater, Mr. Mus- 
grave, I’m too old a hand to wear a valuable watch on a 
race-course. Good-bye, sir, and good luck, and when next 
we meet I trust I shall see you in better spirits,” and with 
that the two men exchanged a hand-grip, and Hugh Mus- 
grave stepped out into the night. 

The trial of M. Duprat for the murder of Algernon 
Welstead was a sensation that tickled the London world 
immensely. Fashionable people, especially fashionable 
ladies, thronged the court, and schemed, pushed, and 
plotted for places. The judge was pestered to death with 
applications for seats in his own vicinity, and the curiosity 
to see the man who was the husband of the brazened Mile. 
Therese, and who had made Mrs. Welstead a widow, was 
marvelous. The counsel for the defense made the best he 
could of a bad case. He hardly alluded to his client’s dec- 
laration that he believed- the dead man had given this 
property to Mme. Duprat; but he urged that it was open 
to question whether the fatal shot was fired by the pris- 
oner or his confederate? A forlorn plea, which had little 
effect with either judge or jury. The judge summed up 
dead against the prisoner, and the jury, after retiring for 
a bare quarter of an hour, brought in a verdict of “ Guilty,” 


THE OUTSIDER. 


257 


and M. Duprat duly expiated his homicidal instincts some 
few weeks later at Newgate. 

Mile. Therese — for by that name she was henceforth 
known — acquired unenviable notoriety in most of the cap- 
itals of Europe. She was seen of late amongst the gam- 
blers at Monte Carlo, where her unfair practices and 
shrewish temper caused her to be regarded with more aver- 
* sion than admiration. A violent outbreak of temper, con- 
sequent upon a persistent run of ill-luck, has, say the 
latest reports concerning her, resulted in her being denied 
admission to that pleasant Pandemonium. 

“ Well, Charley,” inquired Lord Collington, the year 
succeeding Algernon Welstead's death. “ What sort of 
party did you have at Holton this year?” 

“ Never put in a pleasanter fortnight. When I think 
how dull we were last year I can't help feeling downright 
savage with Cis Maltby.” 

“ Why?" asked Lord Collington. 

“ When one sees him and his wife so disgracefully hap- 
py,” replied Wrey, “ and when they make the house so ex- 
cessively pleasant to all of us, what the deuce did they 
mean by quarreling, getting a fit of the sulks, and making 
every one so' uncomfortable last September? I told Mrs. 
Maltbyas much." 

“ And what did she say to that?" said Lord Collington. 

“ Laughed, and said that Holton Manor would never 
have been worth staying at if the misunderstanding be- 
tween her and Cis hadn't been cleared up. '' 

Thea left town immediately after the funeral, and went 
down to the house she had taken at Toxeter. There she 
passed a very quiet winter, and for that season the hunting- 
field knew her no more. Her one enjoyment consisted in 
long rides, attended only by her trusty old groom. She 
was a wealthy woman now, for Algernon Welstead had 
never altered the will which he had made soon after their 


258 


THE OUTSIDER. 


marriage, and by which, in the event of there being no 
children, the bulk of his property went to his wife. Little 
was seen of Thea in town next season. That she sorrowed 
bitterly for her lost husband is of course not to be supposed, 
but his violent and untimely end had much shocked her, 
and she conscientiously paid all due respect to his memory. 

Society is quite willing to welcome her back to its bosom 
whenever she shows signs of wishing to return to it. Mrs. 
Welstead the wealthy widow, and Mrs. Welstead separated 
from her husband, are two very different persons, but 
Thea as yet has shown no desire to mix with the London 
world, and is, when in town, at home only to a few very in- 
timate friends, among whom may be mentioned Lord Col- 
lington and Mrs. Maltby. For Cis has been so far con- 
verted by his wife as to believe that Thea has been more 
sinned against than sinning, and Julia pleaded hard to be 
allowed to visit her friend in her trouble. Thea has an- 
nounced her intention of hunting from Toxeter this season, 
but has refused all invitations for the autumn and winter 
months. 

As for Musgrave, he is still abroad, wandering no one 
knows whither; but Mrs. Maltby, and those of Mrs. Wel- 
stead’s friends best qualified to judge, say that Thea will 
emerge but little from her seclusion until Hugh Mus- 
grave's return to England. 


THE END. 


ADVERTISEMENTS, 


I 


From NEW YORK SUN, Dec. 15, 1886. 

Eight years ago Mr. James Pyle, a manufacturer of this city, began to 
make a powder for use in washing dirty clothing. He had discovered a 
chemical compound that would eradicate dirt without injuring the fabric that 
was dirty. More than that, it would remove blood-stains from butchers’ 
clothing, ink from a printer’s towel, and when applied to the head proved an 
unequaled compound for a shampooing lotion. Experiments showed that as 
a disinfecting detergent it was unequaled for use in bath-tubs and in hospitals 
and asylums. More than that, when tried on jewelry it was found to clean 
precious metals perfectly. There were plenty of soaps in the market, but 
nothing at all like this. Naturally, there was some difficulty in finding a mar- 
ket for a novel compound like this, and no great quantity was sold the first 
year. It was kept before the public, however, and sold on its merits. The 
growth of the sale is one of the wonders of the trade of New York. During 
the past year nearly 15,000.000 packages of this compound, now familiarly 
known the country over as Pearline, were sold, and the business demands the 
attention of hosts of employees and the use of a big stack of brick buildings 
that form one of the landmarks in Greenwich Street. 

“ It is not the quantity sold that alone indicates the value of the goods,” a 
grocer said yesterday. “Pyle originated a new idea, but in the short time it 
has been before the public more than one hundred imitations have been 
brought out, many of them by men of great wealth and good standing in the 
community. Men do not imitate in that way a worthless article.” 


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GLUTEN SUPPOSITORIES 

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for a sample retail box by 


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put up in elegant boxes, and strictly pure. Suit- 
able for presents. Express charges light. Refer 
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money. Address 

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Confectioner. 

CHICAGO. 


WHAT IS SAPOLIO? ssfl 

equal for all cleaning purposes except the laundry. To use it is to value it. 

What will Sapolio do? Why, it will clean paint, make oil-cloths bright, and 
give the floors, tables and shelves a new appearance. 

It will take the grease off the dishes and off the pots and pans. 

You can scour the knives and forks with it, and make the tin things shine 
brightly. The wash-basin, the bath-tub, even the greasy kitchen sink, will 
be as clean as a new pin if you use SAPOLIO. Due cake will prove all 
we say. Be a clever little housekeeper and try it. 

BEWARE OF IMITATIONS. 


NEW TABERNACLE SERMONS 

BY 

f|EV. T. DeWITT TALMJIGE, D.D. 


Handsomely Bound in Cloth. 12mo. Price $1.00. 


The latest of Dr. Talmage’s sermons have not yet been pre* 
sented in book form. They have appeared weekly in The New 
York Fireside Companion, and are now 

Published for the First Time in Booh Form, 

THE PRICE OF WHICH IS WITHIN THE REACH OF ALL*. 


Each Volume will Coataiu flirty Sermons, 


PRINTED IN 

CLEAR, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE, 

AND WILL MAKE 

AN ELEGANT AND ACCEPTABLE HOLIDAY GIFT, 


The above will be sent postpaid on receipt of price, $1.00. 
Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 


P. a Box 8751. 


17 to 27 Vande water Street, New York. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 

The Seaside Library-Pocket Edition. 


Persons who wish to purchase the following works in complete and un 
abridged form are cautioned to order and see that they get The Seaside 
Library, Pocket Edition, as works published in other Libraries are fre- 
quently abridged and incomplete. Every number of The Seaside Library 
is unchanged and unabridged. 

Newsdealers wishing Catalogues of The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
bearing their impriDt, will be supplied on sending their names, addresses, 
and number required. 

The works in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, are printed from 
larger type and on better paper than any other series published. 

The following works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to 
&.ny address, postage free, on receipt of price, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House* 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Yande water Street, N. Y. 

[When ordering by mail please order by numbers.] 


LIST OF AUTHORS 


Works by the author of “ Addie’s 
Husband.” 

388 Addie’s Husband ; or. Through 


Clouds to Sunshine 10 

504 My Poor Wife 10 

Works by the author of “A Fatal 
Dower.” 

846 A Fatal Dower 10 

378 Phyllis’ Probation 10 

461 His Wedded Wife 20 

889 The Actor’s Ward 20 

Works by the author of “ A Great 
Mistake.” 

844 A Great Mistake 20 

588 Cherry 10 


Works by the author of “A 
Woman's Love-Story.” 

822 A Woman’s Love-Story 10 

677 Griselda. 20 

Mrs. Alexander’s Works. 

5 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

17 The Wooing O’t 20 

62 The Executor 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate 10 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? 10 

236 Which Shall it Be? 20 

339 Vtrs. Verekcr’s Courier Maid... 10 

490 A Second Life 20 

564 At Bay 10 

794 Beaton’s Bargaia, ....... 20 


797 Look Before You Leap 

805 The Freres. 1st half 

805 The Freres. 2d hslf. 

806 Her Dearest Foe. 1st LlJf 

806 Her Dearest Foe. 2d half 

814 The Heritage of Langdale 

815 Ralph Wilton’s Weird 

Alison’s Works. • 

194 “So Near, and Yet So Far 1” . . . 

278 For Life and Love 

481 The House That Jack Built. . . . 

F. Anstey’s Works. 

59 "Vice Versa 

225 The Giant’s Robe 

503 The Tinted Venus. A Farcical 

Romance 

819 A Fallen Idol 

R. M. Ballantyne’s Works. 

89 The Red Eric 

95 The Fire Brigade 

96 Erling the Bold.... 

772 Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood 

Trader 

S. Bariug-Gould’s Works. 

787 Court Royal 

878 Little Tu’penny 

Basil’s Works. 

344 “The Wearing of th* Green 

547 A Coquette's Conquest 

585 A Drawn Game 


ssaasas sss sa sa sss § ss sss 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. 




Anne Beale’s Works. 

188 Idonea 20 

199 The Fisher Village. , . 10 

Walter Besant’s Works. 

97 All in a Garden Fair 20 

187 Uncle Jack 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune 10 

146 Love Fiudsthe Way, and Other 

Stories. By Besant and Rice 10 

280 Dorothy Forster 20 

824 In Luck at Last 10 

541 Uncle Jack .... 10 

651 “ Self or Bearer ” 10 

882 Children of Gibeon . , 20 

M. Bet ham-Ed wards’s Works 

273 Love and Mirage ; or, The Wait- 
ing on an Island 10 

579 The Flower of Doom, and Other 

Stories 10 

694 Doctor Jacob 20 

William Black’s Works. 

1 Yolande 20 

18 Sbandon Bells 20 

21 Sunrise : A Story of These 

Times 20 

23 A Princess of Thule 20 

39 In Silk Attire 20 

44 Macleod of Dare 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch. . 20 

60 The Strange Adventures of a 

Phaeton 20 

70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 
mance — 10 

78 Madcap Violet 20 

81 A Daughter of Heth 20 

124 Three Feathers 20 

125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. 20 

126 Kilmeny 20 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 20 
265 Judith Shakespeare . Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures 20 
472 The Wise Women of Inverness. 10 
627 White Heather 20 

R. D. Blackmore’s Works. 

67 Lorna Doone. 1st half 20 

67 Lorna Doone. 2d half 20 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 

Thomas Upmore, Bart., M. P. 20 

615 Mary Anerley 20 

625 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin.. 20 

629 Cripps, the Carrier 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. First half... 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. Second half. 20 

631 Christowell. A Dartmoor Tale 20 

632 < lara Vaughan 20 

633 The Maid of Sker. First half. 20 
633 The Maid of Sker. Second half 20 

636 Alice Lorraine. First half 20 

636 Alice Lorraine. Second half.. 20 


Miss M. E. Braddon’s Works. 


35 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

56 Phantom Fortune 20 

74 Aurora Floyd 20 

110 Under the Red Flag 10 


153 The Golden Calf ..... 20 

204 Vixen 20 

211 The Octoroon 30 

234 Barbara; or. Splendid Misery. . 20 

263 An Ishmaelite 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss Brad don 20 

434 Wyllard’s Weird 20 

478 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part 1 20 

478 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part II 20 

480 Married in Haste. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

487 Put to the Test. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter.. . . 20 

489 Rupert God win 20 

495 Mount Royal 20 

496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

497 The Lady’s Mile 20 

498 Only a Clod 20 

499 The Cloven Foot 20 

511 A Strange World 20 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

524 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

529 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

542 Fenton’s Quest 20 

544 Cut by the County; or, Grace 

Darnel 10 

548 The Fatal Marriage, and The 

Shadow in the Corner 10 

549 Dudley Carleon ; or. The Broth- 

er’s Secret, and George Caul- 
field’s Journey 10 

552 Hostages to Fortune 20 

553 Birds of Prey 20 

554 Charlotte’s inheritance. (Se- 

quel to “ Birds of Prey ”).... 20 
557 To the Bitter End 20 

559 Taken at the Flood 20 

560 Asphodel 20 

561 Just a: I am; or. A Living Lie 20 

567 Dead hen’s Shoes 20 

570 John Marchmont's Legacy. ... 20 
618 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas. 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

840 One Thing Needful; or, The Pen- 
alty of Fate 20 

881 Mohawks 20 

Works by Charlotte ill. Braeim*, 
Author of “Dora Thorne.” 

19 Her Mother’s Sin 10 

51 Dora Thorne 20 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

68 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover 20 

73 Redeemed by Love 20 

76 Wife in Name Only — 20 

79 Wedded and Parted 10 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice 10 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. . 10 

190 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

220 Which Loved Him Best? 10 

237 Repented at Leisure 20 

249 “ Prince Charlie's Daughter ”. 10 


POCKET EDITION. 


iii 


Charlotte M. Braeme’s Works 


(CONTINUED). 


250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 
ana’s Discipline 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair 

but False 10 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime .... 10 

287 At War With Herself . 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight 10 

291 Love’s Warfare 10 

292 A Golden Heart 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

294 Hilda 10 

295 A Woman’s War 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns 10 

297 Her Marriage Vow; or, Hilary's 

Folly 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline’s Dream 10 


306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for 


a Day 10 

307 Two Kisses, and Like no Other 

Love 10 

308 Beyond Pardon 20 

411 A Bitter Atonement 20 

433 My Sister Kate 10 

459 A Woman’s Temptation 20 

460 Under a Shadow... 20 

465 The Earl’s Atonement 20 

466 Between Two Loves 20 

467 A Struggle for a Ring 20 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly 20 

471 Thrown on the World 20 

476 Between Two Sins 10 

516 Put Asunder; or. Lady Castle- 

maine’s Divorce 20 

576 Her Martyrdom 20 

626 A Fair Mystery 20 

741 The Heiress of Hilldrop; or, 
The Romance of a Young 

Girl 6 20 

745 For Another’s Sin; or, A Strug- 
gle for Love 20 

792 Set in Diamonds 20 

821 The World Between Them 20 

853 A True Magdalen 20 

854 A Woman’s Error 20 


Charlotte Bronte’s Works. 


15 Jane Eyre 20 

57 Shirle 3 T 20 

ltlioda Broughton’s Works. 

86 Belinda 20 

101 Second Thoughts 20 

227 Nancy 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains 10 | 

758 “ Good-bye, Sweetheart!’' ... 20 I 

765 Not Wisely, But Too Well 20 

767 Joan , 20 | 


768 Red as a Rose is She ........ 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower 20 

862 Betty’s Visions 10 

Mary E. Bryan’s Works. 

731 The Bayou Bride 20 

857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the 

Red House. -1st half 20 

857 Kildee; or. The Sphinx of the 
Red House. 2d half 20 

Robert Buchanan’s Works. 

145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 

Man 20 

154 Annan Water 20 

181 The New Abelard 10 

398 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan 10 

646 The Master of the Mine 20 

Captain Fred Burnaby’s Works. 

375 A Ride to Khiva 20 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 

Minor 20 

E. Fairfax Byrrne’s Works. 

521 Entangled 20 

538* A Fair Country Maid 20 

Hall Caine’s Works. 

445 The Shadow of a Crime 20 

520 She’s All the World to Me 10 

Rosa Nouchette Carey’s Works. 

215 Not Like Other Girls 20 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement 20 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial 20 

608 For Lilias 20 

Lewis Carroll’s Works. 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
land. Illustrated by John 

Tenniel . ‘ 20 

789 Through the Looking-Glass, 
and What Alice Found There. 
Illustrated by John Tenniel. . 20 

Mrs. 11. Lovett Cameron’s Works. 


595 A North Country Maid 20 

796 In a Grass Country 20 

Wilkie Collins’s Works. 

52 The New Magdalen 10 

102 The Moonstone 20 

167 Heart and Science 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

175 Love’s Random Shot, and Other 

Stories 10 

233 “ I Say No;” or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered 20 

508 The Giri at the Gate 10 

591 The Queen of Hearts 20 

613 The Ghost’s Touch, and Percy 

and the Prophet 10 

623 My Lady’s Money 10 

701 The Woman in White. 1st half 20 

701 The Woman in White, 2d half 20 

702 Man and Wife. 1st half 2u 

70: Man and Wife. 2d half 20 

76 4 The Evil Genius .20 


IV 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. 


Mabel Collins’s Works. 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter 20 

828 The Prettiest Woman iu Warsaw 20 

Hugh Conway’s Works. 

240 Called Back 10 

251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 

Other Tales 10 

801 Dark Days . 10 

302 The Blatehford Bequest 10 

502 Carriston’s Gift 10 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories 10 

543 A Family Affair 20 

601 Slings and Arrows, and Other 

Stories 10 

711 A Cardinal Sin 20 

804 Living or Dead 20 

830 Bound by a Spell . . 20 

J. Fenimore Cooper’s Works. 

60 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

63 The Spy 20 

309 The Pathfinder 20 

310 The Prairie 20 

318 The Pioneers; or, The Sources 

of the Susquehanna 20 

349 The Two Admirals 20 

359 The Water-Witch 20 

361 The Red Rover 20 

373 Wing and Wing 20 

378 Homeward Bound; or, The 

Chase 20 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“Homeward Bound”) 20 

380 Wyandotte; or, The Hutted 

Knoll 20 

385 The Headsman; or, The A’o- 

baye des Vignerons 20 

394 The Bravo 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln; or, The Leag- 
uer of Boston 20 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. . . 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour 20 

416 Jack Tier; or. The Florida Reef 20 

419 The Chain bearer; or, The Little- 

page Manuscripts 20 

420 Satanstoe; or, The Littlepage 

Manuscripts 20 

421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of the Littlepage Manuscripts 20 

422 Precaution 20 

423 The Sea Lions; or. The Lost 

Sealers 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile;’ or, The 

Voyage to Cathay 20 

426 The Oak-Openings ; or, The Bee- * 

Hunter 20 

431 The Monikins 20 

Georgiana M. Craik’s Works. 

450 Godfrey Helstone 20 

606 Mrs. Hollyer ... 20 


B. M. Croker’s Works. 

207 Pretty Miss Neville. 20 

260 Proper Pride 10 

412 Some One Else 20 

May Crommelin’s Works. 

452 In the West Countrie 20 

619 Joy; or. The Light of Cold- 

Home Ford 20 

647 Goblin Gold 10 

Alphonse Daudet’s Woi i. .. 

534 Jack 20 

574 The Nabob: A Story of Parisian 

Life and Manners 20 

Charles Dickens’s Works. 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. 1 20 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. II 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. 1 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. II 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. First half. 20 
37 Nicholas Nickleby. Second half 20 

41 Oliver Twist 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

84 Hard Times 10 

91 Barnaby Rudge. 1st half 20 

91 Barnaby Rudge. 2d half 20 

94 Little Dorrit. First half 20 

94 Little Dorrit. Second half 20 

106 Bleak House. First half 20 

106 Bleak House. Second half 20 

107 Dombey and Son. 1st half .... 20 

107 Dombey and Son. 2d half 20 

108 The Cricket on the Hearth, and 

Doctor Marigold 10 

131 Our Mutual Friend, (1st half-). 20 

131 Our Mutual Friend. (2d half).. 20 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. . . 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

169 The Haunted Man 10 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Chuzzlewit. First half 20 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Chuzzlewit. Second half 20 

439 Great Expectations 20 

440 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

447 American Notes, 20 

443 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mud fog Papers. &e 20 

454 The Mystery of Edwin Drood.. 20 
456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative 
of Every -day Life and Every- 
day People 30 

676 A Child’s History of England. 20 

Sarah Doudney’s Works. 

338 The Family Difficult}’ 10 

679 Where Two Ways Meet 10 

F, Du Boisgobey’s Works. 

82 Sealed Lips 20 

104 The Coral Pin. 1st half 20 

104 The Coral Pin. 2d half. . 20 

204 Pi6douche, a French Detective. 19 


POCKET EDITION. 


v 


F. Du Boisgobey’s Works 

(continued). 


328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

First half 20 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

Second half 20 

453 The Lottery Ticket 20 

475 The Prima Donna’s Husband. . 20 

522 Zig-Zag, the Clown; or, The 

Steel Gauntlets 20 

523 The Consequences of a Duel. A 

Parisian Romance 20 

648 The Angel of the Bells 20 

697 The Pretty Jailer. 1st half 20 

697 The Pretty Jailer. 2d half 20 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. 1st 

half 20 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. 2d 

half 20 

782 The Closed Door. 1st half 20 

782 The Closed Door. 2d half 20 

851 The Cry of Blood. 1st half. ... 20 
851 The Cry of Blood. 2d half 20 

“The Duchess’s” Works. 

2 Molly Bawn 20 

6 Portia 20 

14 Airy Fairy Lilian , . . . 10 

16 Phyllis. 20 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

29 Beauty’s Daughters 10 

30 Faith and Unfaitli 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and 

Eric Dering 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. .. 10 

123 Sweet is True Love 10 

129 Rossmoyne 10 

134 The Witching Hour, and Other 

Stories 10 

136 “That Last Rehearsal,” and 

Other Stories 10 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other 

Stories 10 

284 Doris 10 

312 A Week’s Amusement; or, A 

Week in Killarney 10 

342 The Baby, and One New Year’s 

Eve 10 

390 Mildred Trevanion 10 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories 10 

486 Dick’s Sweetheart 20 

494 A Maiden All Forlorn, and Bar- 
bara 10 

517 A Passive Crime, and Other 

Stories 10 

541 “ As It Fell Upon a Day.” 10 

733 Lady Branksmere 20 

771 A Mental Struggle 20 

785 The Haunted Chamber 10 

862 Ugly Barrington 10 

875 Lady Valwortli's Diamonds — 20 

Alexander Dumas’s Works, 

55 The Three Guardsmen.. 20 

75 Twenty Years After 20 


259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. A 
Sequel to “ The Count of 

Monte-Cristo ” 10 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part 1 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part II 20 

717 Beau Taucrede; or, The Mar- 
riage Verdict 20 

Maria Edgeworth’s Works. 

708 Ormond 20 

788 The Absentee. An Irish Stor 3 \ 20 


Mrs. Annie Edwards’s Works. 


644 A Girton Girl 20 

834 A Ballroom Repentance 20 

835 Vivian the Beauty 20 

836 A Point of Honor.... 20 

837 A Vagabond Heroine 10 

838 Ought We to Visit Her? 20 

839 Leah: A Woman of Fashion... 20 

841 Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 10 

842 A Blue-Stocking 10 

843 Archie Lovell 20 

844 Susan Fielding 20 

845 Philip Earnscliffe; or, The Mor- 

als of May Fair 20 

846 Steven Lawrence. First half. 20 

846 Steven Lawrence. Second half 20 
850 A Play wright’s Daughter 10 


George Eliot’s Works. 

3 The Mill on the Floss . . . . 20 

31 Middlemarch. 1st half .20 

31 Middlemarch. 2d half 20 

34 Daniel Deronda. 1st half 20 

34 Daniel Deronda. 2d half 20 

36 Adam Bede 20 

42 Romola 20 

693 F"elix Holt, the Radical 20 

707 Silas Marner: The Weaver of 

Raveloe 10 

728 Janet’s Repentance . . 10 * 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 

Such 10 

B. B. Farjeon’s Works. 

179 Little Make-Believe 10 

573 Love's Harvest 20 

607 Self-Doomed 10 

616 The Sacred Nugget...... . . 20 

657 Christmas Angel 10 

G. Manville Fenn’s Works, 

193 The Rosery Folk 10 

558 Poverty Corner 20 

587 The Parson o’ Dumford 20 

609 The Dark House 10 

Octave Feuillet’s Works, 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young 

Man 10 

386 Led Astray; or, “La Petite 

Comtesse” 10 


Mrs. Forrester’s Works. 

80 June. 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas, A Tale of So- 
ciety...., 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. 


ri 


Mrs. Forrester’s Works 

(continued). 


484 Although He Was a Lord, and 

Other Tales 10 

715 I Have Lived and Loved 20 

721 Dolores 20 

724 My Lord and My Lady 20 

726 My Hero 20 

727 Fair Women 20 

729 Mignon 20 

782 From Olympus to Hades 20 

734 Viva 20 

736 Roy and Viola 20 

740 Rhona 20 

744 Diana Carew; or, For a Wom- 
an’s Sake 20 

883 Once Again 20 

Jessie Jbothergili’s Works. 

314 Peril 20 

572 Healey 20 

ft® E. Francillon’s Works® 

186 A Great Heiress: A Fortune 

in Seven Checks 10 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables 10 

360 Ropes of Sand 20 

656 The Golden Flood. By R. E. 

Francillon and WTn. Senior . 10 

Emile Gaboriau’s Works. 

7 File No. 113 20 

12 Other People’s Money 20 

20 Within an Inch of His Life 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol 1 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol. II 20 

33 The Clique of Gold 10 

38 The Widow Lerouge 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

144 Promises of Marriage 10 

Charles Gibbon’s Works. 

64 A Maiden Fair 10 

317 By Mead and Stream 20 

James Grant’s Works. 

566 The Royal Highlanders ; or, 
The Black Watch in Egypt. . . 20 
781 The Secret Dispatch 10 

Miss Grant’s Works. 

222 The Sun-Maid 20 

555 Cara Rom a 20 

Arthur Griffiths’s Works. 

614 No. 99 10 

680 Fast and Loose 20 

H. Itidcr Haggard’s *Works. 

432 The Witch's Head 20 

753 King Solomon’s Mines. 20 

Thomas Hardy’s Works. 

139 The Romantic Adventures of 

a Milkmaid 10 

530 A Pair of Blue Eyes 20 

600 Far From the Madding Crowd 20 
79i The Mayor of Casterbridge, , . 20 


John 8, Harwood’s Works. 

143 One False, Both Fair 20 

358 Within the Clasp 20 

Mary Cecil Hay’s Works. 

65 Back to the Old Home 10 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money 20 

196 Hidden Perils 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake 20 

224 The Arundel Motto 20 

281 The Squire’s Legacy 20 

290 Nora’s Love Test 20 

408 Lester’s Secret 20 

678 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

716 Victor and Vanquished 20 

849 A Wicked Girl 20 

Mrs. Cashel-Hoey’s Works. 

313 The Lover’s Creed. . 20 

802 A Stern Chase 20 

Tighe Hopkins’s Works. 

509 Nell Haffenden 20 

714 ’Twixt Love and Duty 20 

Works by the Author of ’’Judith 
Wynne.” 

332 Judith Wynne 20 

506 Lady Lovelace 20 

William H, G. Kingston’s Works. 

117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. 20 

133 Peter the Whaler 10 

761 Will Weafherhelm 20 

763 The Midshipman, Marmaduke 

Merry 20 

Vernon Lee’s Works. 

399 Miss Brown 20 

859 Ottilie: An Eighteenth Century 
Idyl. By Vernon Lee. The 
Prince of the 100 Soups. Edit- 
ed by Vernon Lee 20 

Charles Lever’s Works. 

191 Harry Lorrequer 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra 

goon. First half... 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 
goon. Second half 20 

243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” First 

Half 20 

!*43 Tom Burke of “Ours.” Sec- 
ond half 20 

Mary Linskill’s Works. 

473 A Lost Son 20 

620 Between the Heather and the 

Northern Sea 20 

Mrs. E. Lynn Linton’s Works. 

122 lone Stewart 20 

817 Stabbed in the Dark 10 

Samuel Lover’s Works. 

663 Handy Andy 30 

664 Rory Q’More.,,., 80 


POCKET EDITION 


yM 


Sir E. Bulwer Lyt'ton’s Works. 

40 The Last Days of Pompeii 20 

83 A Strange Story 20 

90 Ernest Maltravers 20 

130 The Last of the Barons. First 

half 20 

130 The Last of the Barons. Sec- 
ond half 20 

162 Eugene Aram 20 

164 Leila; or. The Siege of Grenada 10 
650 Alice; or, The Mysteries. (A Se- 
quel to “Ernest Maltravers”) 20 
720 Paul Clifford 20 

George Macdonafd’s Works. 

282 Donal Grant 20 

325 The Portent 10 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women 10 

722 What’s Mine’s Mine 20 

E. Marlitt’s Works- 

652 The Lady with the Rubies 20 

858 Old Ma’m’selle’s Secret 20 


Florence lVIarryat’s Works. 


159 A Moment of Madness, and 

Other Stories 10 

183 Old Coutrairy, and Other 

Stories 10 

208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories 10 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses — 10 

444 The Heart of Jane Warner 20 

449 Peeress and Player 20 

689 The Heir Presumptive 20 

825 The Master Passion 20 

860 Her Lord and Master 20 

861 My Sister the Actress 20 

863 “My Own Child.” 20 

864 “ No Intentions.” 20 

865 Written in Fire 20 

866 Miss Harrington’s Husband... 20 

867 The Girls of Feversham 20 

868 Petronel 20 

869 The Poison of Asps 10 

870 Out of His Reckoning 10 

872 With Cupid’s Eyes. . . . : 20 

873 A Harvest of Wild Oats 20 

^77 Facing the Footlights 20 


Captain Marryat’s Works. 


Justin McCarthy’s Works. 


121 Maid of Athens 20 

602 Camiola 20 

685 England Under Gladstone. 

1880-1885 20 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 

bv Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. . 10 
779 Doom ! An Atlantic Episode. . 10 


Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller*® 
Works. 

267 Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 

Conspiracy 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 

Miser’s Treasure. 20 

269 Lancaster’s Choice 20 

310 Sworn to Silence; or. Aline 

Rodney’s Secret. 20 


Jean Middtemas’s Works. 


155 Lady Muriel’s Secret 20 

539 Silvermead 20 


Alan Muir’s Works. 


172 “ Golden Girls ” 20 

346 Tumbledown Farm 10 

Miss JIu lock’s Works. 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman 20 

245 Miss Tommy, and In a House- 

Boat 10 

808 King Arthur. Not a Love Story 20 

David Christie Murray’s Works. 

58 By the Gate of the Sea 10 

195 “ The Way of the World ” 20 

320 A Bit of Human Nature 10 

661 Rainbow Gold 20 

674 First Person Singular 20 

691 Valentine Strange 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 

Deuce 20 

698 A Life's Atonement 20 

737 Aunt Rachel 10 

826 Cynic Fortune 20 


Works by the author of “My 
Ducats and My Daughter.” 

376 The Crime of Christmas Day. 10 
596 My Ducats and My Daughter. .. 20 


88 The Privateersman 20 

272 The Little Savage 10 

Helen B. Mat her s’ s Works. 

13 Eyre’s Acquittal 10 

221 Coinin’ Thro’ the Rye 20 

438 Found Out 10 

535 Murder or Manslaughter? 10 

673 Story of a Sin 20 

713 “ Cherry Ripe ”... 20 

795 Sam’s Sweetheart . 20 

798 The Fashion of this World 10 

799 My Lady Green Sleeves 20 


W. E. Norris’s Works. 


184 Thirl by Hall. 20 

277 A Man of His Word 10 

355 That Terrible Man 10 

500 Adrian Vidal 20 

824 Her Own Doing 10 

848 My Friend Jim 10 

871 A Bachelor’s Blunder 20 

Laurence Oliphaut’s Works. 

i 47 Altiora Peto. 20 

! 537 Piccadilly 10 


rfii THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. 


Airs. Oliphant’s Works. 

45 A Little Pilgrim 10 

177 Salem Chapel 20 

205 The Minister’s Wife 30 

321 The Prodigals, and Their In- 
heritance 10 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 
Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
including some Chronicles of 

the Borough of Feudie 20 

345 Madam 20 

351 The House on the Moor 20 

357 John 20 

370 Lucy Crofton 10 

371 Margaret Maitland 20 

377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 

the Scottish Reformation 20 

402 Lilliesleaf; or, Passages in the 
Life of Mrs Margaret Mait- 
land of Sunny side 20 

410 Old Lady Mary 10 

527 The Dav's of My Life 20 

528 At His Gates 20 

568 The Perpetual Curate 20 

569 Harry Muir 20 

603 Agnes. 1st half . 20 

603 Agnes. 2d half 20 

604 Innocent. 1st half 20 

604 Innocent. 2d half 20 

605 Ombra 20 

645 Oliver’s Bride 10 

655 The Open Door, and The Portrait 10 

687 A Country Gentleman 20 

703 A House Divided Against Itself 20 
710 The Greatest Heiress in England 20 

827 Effie Ogilvie 20 

880 The Son of His Father 20 

“ Ouida’s ” Works. 

4 Under Two Flags 20 

9 Wanda, Countess von Szalras.. 20 

116 Moths 20 

128 Afternoon and Other Sketches. 10 

226 Friendship 20 

228 Princess Napraxine 20 

238 Pascarel 20 

239 Signa. . 20 

433 A Rainy June 10 

639 Othmar 20 

671 Don Gesualdo 10 

672 In Maremma. First half 20 

672 In Maremma. Second half — 20 
874 A House Party 10 

James Payn’s Works. 

48 Thicker Than Water 20 

186 The Canon’s Ward 20 

343 The Talk of the Town 20 

577 In Peril and Privation 10 

589 The Luck of the Darrells 20 

823 The Heir of the Ages 20 

Miss Jane Porter’s Works. 

660 The Scottish Chiefs. 1st half.. 20 
660 The Scottish Chiefs. 2d half.. 20 
696 Thaddeus of Warsaw 20 

Cecil Power’s Works. 

386 Philistia. 20 

611 Babylon ... ... 20 


Airs. Campbell Praed’s Works. 


428 Zero: A Story of Monte-Carlo. 10 

477 Affinities 10 

811 The Head Station 20 

Eleanor C. Price’s Works. 

173 The Foreigners 20 

331 Gerald 20 

Charles K cade’s Works. 

46 Very Hard Cash 20 

98 A Woman-Hater 20 

206 The Picture, and Jack of All 

Trades 10 

210 Readiana: Comments on Cur- 
rent Events 10 

213 A Terrible Temptation 20 

214 Put Yourself in His Place 20 

216 Foul Play 20 

231 Griffith Gaunt; or, Jealousy... 20 

232 Love and Money ; or, A Perilous 

Secret . . . ............... 16 

235 “It is Never Too Late to 
Mend.” A Matter-of-Fact Ro- 
mance 20 

Mrs. J, H. RiddelPs Works. 

71 A Struggle for Fame 20 

593 Berna Boyle 20 

“Rita’s” Works. 

252 A Sinless Secret 10 

446 Dame Durden 20 

598 “Corinna.” A Stud.y 10 

617 Like Dian’s Kiss 20 


F. W. Robinson’s Works. 

157 Milly’s Hero 20 

217 The Man She Cared For 20 

261 A Fair Maid 20 

455 Lazarus in London 20 

590 The Courting of Mary Smith. . . 20 

W. Clark Russell’s Works. 

85 A Sea Queen 20 

109 Little Loo 20 

180 Round the Galley Fire 10 

209 John Holds worth, Chief Mate. . 10 

223 A Sailor’s Sweetheart 20 

592 A Strange Voyage 20 

682 In the Middle Watch. Sea 

Stories 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. 1st half 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. 2d half 20 

Adeline Sergeant’s Works. 

257 Beyond Recall 10 

812 No Saint 20 

Sir Walter Scott’s Works. 

28 Ivanhoe .* 20 

201 The Monastery 20 

202 The Ahbot. (Sequel to “The 

Monastery ”) 20 

353 The Black Dwarf, and A Le- 
gend of Montrose ‘«N 

362 The Bride of Lammermcor $1 

363 The Surgeon’s Daughter 10 

364 Castle Dangerous ■ 10 


POCKET EDITION, 


ix 


Sir Walter Scott’s Works 
(continued'). 

391 The Heart of Mid-Lothiau 20 

392 Peveril of the Peak 20 

893 The Pirate 20 

401 Waverley 20 

417 The Fair Maid of Perth ; or, St. 

Valentine’s Day 20 

418 St. Ronan’s Well 20 

463 Redgauntlet. A Tale of the 

Eighteenth Century 20 

607 Chronicles of the Canongate, 
and Other Stories 10 

William Sime’s Works. 

429 Boulderstone; or, New Men and 

Old Populations 10 

580 The Red Route 20 

597 Haco the Dreamer 10 

649 Cradle and Spade 3P 

Hawley Smart’s Works. 

348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 

Romance 20 

367 Tie and Trick 20 

550 Struck Down 10 

847 Bad to Beat 10 

B’rank E. Smedley’s Works. 

333 Frank Fairlegli; or, Scenes 
from the Life of a Private 

Pupil 20 

562 Lewis Arundel; or, The Rail- 
road of Life 20 

T. W. Speiglit’s Works. 

150 For Himself Alone 10 

653 A Barren Title 10 

Robert Louis Stevenson’s Works. 

686 Strange Cnse of Dr. Jekyll and 

Mr. Hyde 10 

704 Prince Otto 10 

832 Kidnapped 20 

855 The Dynamiter. 20 

856 New Arabian Nights 20 

Julian Sturgis’s Works. 

405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 10 

694 John Maidment 20 


Eugene Sue’s Works, 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part I... 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part H. . 20 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part 1 . 20 
271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part II. 20 

George Temple’s Works. 


599 Lancelot Ward, M.P 10 

642 Britta 10 

William III. Thackeray’s Works. 

27 Vanity Fair 20 

165 The History of Henry Esmond. 20 

464 The Newcomes. Part 1 20 

464 The Newcomes. Part II 20 

670 The Rose and the Ring, Illus- 
trated. 10 


Works by the Author of “The 
Two Miss Flemings.’’ 

637 What’s His Offence? 20 

780 Rare Pale Margaret 20 

784 The Two Miss Flemings 20 

831 Pomegranate Seed 20 

Annie Thomas’s Works. 

141 She Loved Him ! 10 

142 Jenifer • 20 

565 No Medium 10 

Anthony Trollope’s Works. 

32 The Land Leaguers 20 

93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiog- 
raphy 20 

147 Rachel Ray 20 

200 An Old Man’s Love 10 

531 The Prime Minister. 1st half. . 20 
531 The Prime Minister. 2d half. . . 20 

621 The Warden. 10 

622 Harrv Heathcote of Gangoil. . . H) 
667 The Golden Lion of Granpere.. 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. 1st half 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. 2d half 20 

775 The Three Clerks 20 

Margaret Veley’s W^orks, 

298 Mitchelhurst Place 10 

586 “ For Percival ” 20 

Jules Verne’s Works. 

87 Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

Fifteen 20 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. 20 
368 The Southern Star ; or, the Dia- 
mond Land 20 

395 The Archipelago on Fire 14) 

578 Mathias Saudorf. Illustrated. 

Part I 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Part II 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Part III 10 

659 The Waif of the “ Cynthia ”... 20 
751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
gators. First half 20 

751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
gators. Second half 20 

833 Ticket No. “9672.” First half.. 10 

L. B. Walford’s Works. 

241 The Baby’s Grandmother 10 

256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 20 

258 Cousins 20 

658 The History of a Week 10 

F. Warden’s Works, 

192 At the World’s Mercy 10 

248 The House on the Marsh. 10 

286 Deldee ; or. The Iron Hand.... 20 

482 A Vagrant Wife 20 

556 A Prince of Darkness. 20 

820 Doris’s Fortune 10 


r 


THE SEASIDE LIBKAKY 


William Ware's Works. 

709 Zenobia; or. The Fall of Pal- 
myra. 1st half 20 

709 Zenobia; or, The Fall of Pal- 
myra. 2d half 20 

760 Aurelian; or, Rome in the Third 

Century 20 

E. Werner’s Works. 

327 Raymond’s Atonement 20 

540 At a High Price 20 

(4. J . Wliyte-Melville’s Works. 

409 Roy’s Wife 20 

451 Market Harborough, and Inside 
the Bar 20 

Jolin Strange Winter’s Works. 

492 Mignon ; or, Booties’ Baby. Il- 
lustrated 10 

600 Houp-La. Illustrated 10 

638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 

Black Horse) Dragoons. . — 10 
688 A Man of Honor. Illustrated.. 10 
746 Cavalry Life; or, Sketches and 

Stories in Barracks and Out. . 20 
813 Army Society. Life in a Gar- 
rison Town 10 

818 Pluck 10 

876 Mignon’s Secret 10 

Mrs. Henry Wood’s Works. 

8 East Lynne 20 

255 The Mystery.. .’ 20 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters 10 

508 The Unholy Wish 10 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 

Other Tales 10 

514 The Mystery of Jessy Page, and 

Other Tales 10 

610 The Story of Dorothy Grape, 

and Other Tales 10 

Charlotte M. Yonge’s Works. 

247 The Armourer's Prentices 10 

275 The Three Brides 10 

535 Henrietta’s Wish; or, Domi- 
neering 10 

563 The Two Sides of the Shield.. . . 20 
640 Nuttie’s Father 20 

665 The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest. . 20 

666 My Young Alcides: A Faded 

Photograph 20 

739 The Caged Lion 20 

742 Love and Life 20 

783 Chantry House 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls; or, The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 

First half 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls; or, The 
White and black Ribaumont. 

Second half — 20 

800 Hopes and Fears; or, Scenes 
from the Life of a Spinster. 

First half 20 

900 Hopes and Fears; or, Scenes 
from the Life of a Spinster. 
Second half 20 


Miscellaneous. 


The Story of Ida. Francesca. 10 
Charlotte Temple. Mrs. Row- 

son 10 

Barbara’s History. Amelia B. 

Edwards 20 

Rose Fleming. Dora Russell. . 10 
A Noble Wife. John Saunders 20 
The Little School-master Mark. 

J. H. Shorthouse 10 

The Waters of Marah. John 

Hill 20 

Mrs. Carr’s Companion. M. G. 

Wight wick 10 

Some of Our Girls. Mrs. C. J. 

Eiloart 20 

Diamond Cut Diamond. T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10 

Tom Brown’s School Days at 

Rugby. Thomas Hughes 20 

Adrian Bright. Mrs. Caddy 20 

The Captain ’s Daughter. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

The Ducie Diamonds. C. Blath- 

erwick 10 

“For a Dream's Sake.” Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

The Starling. Norman Mac- 

leod, D.D 10 

Her Gentle Deeds. Sarah Tytler 10 
The Lady of Lyons. Founded 
on the Play of that title by 

Lord Lytton 10 

Winifred Power. Joyce Dar- 
rell 20 

A Great Treason. Mary Hop- 

pus 30 

Under a Ban. Mrs. Lodge 20 

An April Day. Philippa Prit- 

tie Jephson 10 

More Leaves from the Journal 
of a Life in the Highlands. 

Queen Victoria 10 

The Millionaire 20 

Dita. Lady Margaret Majendie 10 
The Midnight Sun. Fredrika 

Bremer 10 

A Husband’s Story 10 

John Ball and His Island. Max 
O’Rell 10 


Agnes Sorel. G. P. R. Janies. . 20 
Lady Clare : or, The Masker of 
the Forges. Georges Ohnet 10 
The Two Orphans. D'Ennery. 10 
The Amazon. Carl Vosmaer . . 10 
The Water-Babies. Rev. Chas. 


Kingsley 10 

Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 
Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 

and Letters 10 

Little Goldie : A Story of Wom- 
an’s Love. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 
den 20 

The Gambler's Wife 20 


John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. A “ Brutal Sax- 
on ”... .. 10 


53 

61 

99 

103 

105 

111 

112 

113 

114 

115 

120 

127 

149 

151 

156 

158 

160 

161 

163 

170 

174 

176 

178 

182 

185 

187 

198 

203 

218 

219 

242 

253 

266 

274 

279 

285 

289 


POCKET EDITION. 


xi 


Miscellaneous— Continued. 


311 Two Years Before the Mast. R. 

H. Dana, Jr 20 

323 A Willful Maid 20 

329 The Polish Jew. (Translated 

from the French by Caroline 
A. Merighi.) Erckmann Chat- 
rian 10 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two 

Loves. Margaret Lee 20 

334 A Marriage of Convenience. 

Harriett Jay 10 

335 The White Witch 20 

340 Under Which King? Compton 

Reade 20 

341 Madolin Rivers; or. The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

Laura Jean Libbey 20 

347 As Avon Flows. Henry Scott. 

Vince 20 

350 Diana of the Crossways. George 

Meredith 10 

352 At Any Cost Edward Garrett. 10 
354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 
of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. John Brougham 20 


355 The Princess Dagomar of Po- 

land, Heinrich Felbermann. 10 

356 A Good Hater. Frederick Boyle 20 
365 George Christy; or, The Fort- 
unes of a Minstrel. Tony 


Pastor 20 

366 The Mysterious Hunter; or, 
The Man of Death. Capt. L. 

C. Carleton 20 

369 Miss Bretherton. Mrs. Hum- 
phry* Ward 10 

374 The Dead Man’s Secret. Dr. 

Jupiter Paeon 20 

381 The Red Cardinal. Frances 

Elliot 10 

382 Three Sisters. Elsa D’Esterre- 

Keeling 10 

383 Introduced to Society. Hamil- 

ton Aid 6 10 

387 the Secret of the Cliffs. Char- 
lotte French 20 

389 Ichabod. A Portrait. Bertha 

Thomas 10 

403 An English Squire. C. R. Cole- 
ridge 20 

406 The Merchant’s Clerk. Samuel 

Warren 10 

407 Tylney Hall. Thomas Hood. . . 20 
426 Venus’s Doves. Ida Ashworth 

Taylor 20 

430 A Bitter Reckoning. Author 

of 14 By Crooked Paths ” — 10 

435 Klvtia : A Story of Heidelberg 

Castle. George Taylor 20 

436 Stella. Fanny Lewald 20 

441 A Sea Change. Flora L. Shaw. 20 

442 Ranthorpe. George Henry 

Lewes 20 

443 The Bachelor of the Albany. . . 10 
457 The Russians, at tiie Gates of 

Herat, Charles Marvin. . s . . . 10 


458 A Week of Passion; or, The 
Dilemma of Mr. George Bar- 
ton the Younger. Edward 

Jenkins 26 

468 The Fortunes, Good and Bad. 
of a Sewing-Girl. Charlotte 

M. Stanley.: 10 

474 Sera pis. An Historical Novel. 

George Ebers 20 

479 Louisa. Katharine S. Macquoid 20 
483 Betwixt My Love and Me. By 

author of “ A Golden Bar ”... 10 
485 Tinted Vapours. J. Maclaren 

Cobban 10 

491 Society in London. A Foreign 

Resident 10 

493 Colonel Enderby’s Wife. Lucas 

Malet 20 

501 Mr. Butler’s Ward. F. Mabel 

Robinson 20 

504 Curly : An Actor’s Story. John 

Coleman 10 

505 The Society of London. Count 

Paul Vasili. 10 

510 A Mad Love. Author of “ Lover 

and Lord ” . — . . 10 

512 The Waters of Hercules ........ 20 

518 The Hidden Sin 20 

519 James Gordon's Wife 20 

526 Madame De Presnel. E. Fran- 
ces Poynter 20 

532 Arden Court. Barbara Grab am 20 

533 Hazel Kirke. Marie Walsh. ... 20 
536 Dissolving Views. Mrs. Andrew 

Lang 10 

545 Vida’s Story. By the author of 

“ Guilty Without Crime ”. . . 10 

546 Mrs. Keith’s Crime. A Novel.. 10 

571 Paul Crew’s Story. Alice Co- 
rny ns Carr 10 

575 The Finger of Fate. Captain 

Mavne Reid 20 

581 The "Betrothed. (I Fromessi 

Sposi.) Allessandro Manzoni 20 

582 Lucia, Hugh and Another. Mrs. 

J. H. Needed 20 

583 Victory Deane. Cecil Griffith. . 20 

584 Mixed Motives 10 

599 Lancelot Ward. M.P. George 

Temple 10 

612 My Wife’s Niece. By the author 

of “ Dr. Edith Romney ” 20 

624 Primus in Indis. M. J. Colqu- , 

houn 10 

628 Wedded Hands. By the author 

of “My Lady’s Folly ” 20 

634 The Unforeseen. Alice O’Han 

Ion 20 

641 The Rabbi’s Spell. Stuart C. 

Cumberland. 10 

643 The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey 
Crayon, Gent. Washington 

Irving 20 

654 41 Us.” An Old-fashioned Story. 

Mrs. Molesw*orth 10 

662 The Mystery of Allan Grale. 

Isabella Fyvie Mayo 26 

668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance, SO 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. 


si'i 


669 

675 

m 

683 

684 
692 


705 

706 
■512 
718 
119 
723 
725 
730 
735 
738 
748 
750 
750 
752 
754 


<.>o 

756 


Miscellaneous— Continued. 

The Philosophy of Whist. 

William Pole 20 

3Irs. Dymond. Miss Thackeray 20 
A Singer’s Story. May Laffan. 10 
The Bachelor Vicar of New- 
fbrth. Mrs. J. Harcourt-Roe. 20 

Last Days at Apswich 10 

The Mikado, and Other Comic 
Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 

Sullivan 20 

The Woman I Loved, and the 
Woman Who Loved Me. Isa 

Blagden 10 

A Crimson Stain. Annie Brad 

shaw 10 

For Maimie's Sake. Grant 

Allen 20 

Unfairly Won. Mrs. Power 

O’Donoghue 20 

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. 

Lord Byron 10 

Mauleverer’s Millions. T. We- 

inyss Reid 20 

My Ten Years! Imprisonment. 

Silvio Pellico 10 

The Autobiography of Benja- 
min Franklin. 10 

Until the Day Breaks. Emily 

Spender 20 

In the Golden Days. Edna 

Lyall 20 

Hurrish: A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawless 20 

An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. Fritz Reuter. 1st half 20 
An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. Fritz Reuter. 2d half 20 
Jackanapes, and Other Stories. 

Juliana Horatia Ewing ... .10 

How to be Happy Though Mar- 
ried. By a Graduate in the 

University of Matrimony 20 

Margery Daw 20 

The Strange Adventures of Cap- 
tain Dangerous. A Narrative 
in Plain English. Attempted 
by George Augustus Sala — 20 


757 Love's Martyr. Laurence Alma 

Tadema 10 

759 In Shallow Waters. Annie Ar- 

mitt 20 

766 No. XIII; or, The Stoiy of the 
Lost Vestal. Emma Mar- 
shall 10 

770 The Castle of Otranto. Hor 

ace Walpole 10 

773 The Mark of Cain. Andrew 

Lang 10 

774 The Life and Travels of Mungo 

Park 10 

776 Pere Goriot. Honors De Bal- 

zac 20 

777 The Voyages and Travels of 

of Sir John Maundeville, Kt. . 10 

778 Society’s Verdict. By the au- 

thor of “My Marriage ” 20 

786 Ethel Mildmay’s Follies. By au- 
thor of “Petite’s Romance’'. 20 
793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 
Beaconsfield. First half 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli. Earl of 
Beaconsfield. Second half .. . 20 
801 She Stoops to Conquer, and 
The Good-Natured Man. Oli- 
ver Goldsmith 10 

803 Major Frank. A. L. G. Bos- 

boom-Tonssaint 20 


807 If Love Be Love. D. Cecil Gibbs 20 

809 Witness My Hand. By author 

of “ Lady Gwendolen's Tryst ” 10 

810 The Secret of Her Life. Ed- 

ward Jenkins 20 


816 Rogues and Vagabonds. By 
George R. Sims, author of 

“ ’Ostler Joe” 20 

822 A Passion Flower, A Novel 20 

852 Under Five Lakes. M. Quad.. 20 
879 The Touchstone of Peril. A 
Novel of Anglo-Indian Life, 
With Scenes During the Mu- 
tiny. By R. E. Forrest 20 


[When ordering by mail please order by numbers.] 

Persons who wish to purchase the foregoing works in complete and un- 
abridged form are cautioned to order and see that they get The Seaside 
Library. Pocket Edition, as works published in other libraries are fre- 
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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY . — Pocket Edition 

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LATEST ISSUES: 


NO. PRICK. 

669 Pole on Whist 20 

432 THE WITCH’S HEAD. By 

H. Rider Haggard. 20 

878 Little Tu’penny. By S. Baring- 

Gould .... ..... 10 

879 The Touchstone of Peril. By 

R. E. Forrest 20 

880 The. Son of His Father. By Mrs. 

Oliphant. 20 

881 Mohawks. By Miss M. E. Brad- 

don 20 

882 Children of Gibeon. By Walter 

Besant ........ 20 

883 Once Again. By Mrs. For- 

rester - ... . . . *J0 

884 A Voyage to the Cape. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

885 Les Mis6rables. Victor Hugo. 

Parti. ..... 20 

885 Les Miserables. Victor Hugo. 
Part II ... 20 

885 Les Miserables. Victor Hugo. 

Part III. 20 

886 Paston Carew, Millionaire and 

Miser. Mrs. E. Lynn Linton. 20 

887 A Modern Telemachus. By 

Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

888 Treasure Island. Robert Louis 

Stevenson. ....... ............ 10 

889 An Inland Voyage. By Robert 

Louis Stevenson 10 

890 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 

mas, 1886. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon ...... ... . 20 

891 VeraNevill; or, Poor Wisdom’s 

Chance. By Mrs. H. Lovett 
Cameron .... ............. 20 

892 That Winter Night; or, Love’s 

Victory. Robert Buchanan. 10 

893 Love’s Conflict. By Florence 

Marry at. First half. ....... 20 

893 Love’s Conflict. By Florence 

Marrvat. Second half ...... . 20 

894 Doctor Cupid. By Rhoda 

Broughton...... 20 

895 A Star and a Heart. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 10 

896 The Guilty River. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 


897 Ange. By Florence Marryat. . . 20 

898 Bulldog and Butterflj 1- , and Julia 

and Her Romeo, by David 
Christie Murray. Romeo and 
Juliet : A Tale of Two Young 
Fools, by William Black 20 


NO. PRICK. 

899 A Little Stepson. By Florence 

Marryat , . 10 

900 By Woman’s Wit. By Mrs. Al- 

exander — . — 20 

902 A Poor Gentleman. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

903 Phyllida. By Florence Marryat 20 

904 The Holy Rose. By Walter Be- 

sant... 10 

905 The Fair-Haired Alda. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

906 The World Went Very Well 

Then. By Walter Besant 20 

907 The Bright Star of Life. By B. 

L. Far jeon 20 

908 A Willful Young Woman 20 

909 The Nine of Hearts. By B. L. 

Farjeon 20 

910 She: A History of Adventure. 

By H. Rider Haggard 20 

911 Golden Bells: A Peal in Seven 

Changes. By R. E. Francillon 20 

912 Pure Gold. By Mrs. H. Lovett 

Cameron. First half 20 

912 Pure Gold. By Mrs. H. Lovett 

Cameron. Second half. ...... 20 

913 The Silent Shore. Bj^ John 

Bloundelle-Burton ........ 20 

914 Joan Wentworth. By Katharine 

S. Macquoid 20 

915 That Other Person. By Mrs. 

Alfred Hunt. First half 20 


915 That Other Person. By Mrs. 

Alfred Hunt. Second half .. . 20 

917 The Case of Reuben Malaehi. 

By H. Sutherland Edwards.. 10 

918 The Red Band. By F. Du Bois- 


gobey. First half 20 

918 The Red Band. By F. Du Bois- 

gobey. Second half 20 

919 LocksleyHall Sixty Years After, 

etc. By Alfred. Lord Tenny- 
son, P.L., D.C.L 10 

920 A Child of the Revolution. By 

the author of “Mademoiselle 
Mori” 20 

921 The Late Miss Holliugford. By 

Rosa Mulholland 10 

923 At War With Herself. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne.” (Large type 

edition) 20 

925 The Outsider. Hawley Smart.. 20 


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IN TWO PARTS. 

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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY 

ORDINARY EDITION. 


GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House* 
t. O. Box 8751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, H. f. 


The following works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Eduion, 
ore for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, 
on receipt of the price, by the publisher. Parties ordering by mail will p«eas'» 
order by numbers. 


MRS. ALEXANDER’S WORKS. 


30 Her Dearest Foe . . . , , 20 

36 The Wooing O’t ...... , . . 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale . 20 

370 Ralph Wilton’s Weird 10 

400 Which Shall it Re? .. ...... .. 20 

532 Maid, Wife, or Widow. ........ , . , , , 10 

1231 The Freres. 20 

1259 Valerie’s Fate . 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

1502 The Australian Aunt 10 

1595 The Admiral’s Ward • 20 

31721 The Executor 20 

11934 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid 10 

WILLIAM BLACK’S WORKS. 

13 A Princess of Thule * . , 20 

28 A Daughter of Heth * 10 

47 In Silk Attire 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. i0 

61 Kilmenv - - ..... 10 


THE UK ASIDE L TER A RY.— Ordinary Edition . 


58 The Monarch of Mincing Lane 10 

79 Madcap Violet (small type) 10 

604 Madcap Violet (large type).. 20 

242 The Three Feathers 10 

390 The Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Killeena. 10 

417 Macleod of Dare . . 20 

451 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

568 Green Pastures aud Piccadilly 10 

816 White Wings: A Yachting Romance 10 

826 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

950 Sunfise: A Story of These Times 20 

1025 The Pupil of Aurelius 10 

1032 That Beautiful Wretch - 10 

1161 The Four MacNicols 10 

J264 Mr. Pisistratus Brown. M.P., in the Highlands 10 

1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People 10 

1556 Shandon Bells 20 

1683 Yolande 20 

1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and other Advent- 
ures 20 

MISS M. E. BRYDDON’S WORKS. 

26 Aurora Floyd r 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Lovels of Arden 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

114 Darrell Markham 10 

140 The Lady Lisle 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 20 

235 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

254 The Octoroon 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange 10 

295 Lost for Love 20 

322 Dead-Sea Fruit. . . .' 20 

459 The Doctor’s Wife .• 20 

469 Liupert Godwin 20 


VUE SEASIDE Uti ft ART. -Ordinary Edition . 


481 Vixen . . . . 20 

482 The Cloven Foot 20 

500 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

525 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 30 

539 A Strange World * 20 

550 Fenton’s Quest 20 

562 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood 20 

641 Only a Clod . . . . 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners 20 

656 George Caulfield’s Journey 10 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bound to John Company; or, Robert Ainsleigh 20 

701 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II... 20 

811 Dudley Carleon 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 J ust as I Am ; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune 20 

1736 Under the Red Flag 10 

1877 An Ishmaelite 20 

1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon) 20 

CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

3 Jane Eyre (in small type) 10 

396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type; 20 

162 Shirley 20 

§13 The Professor. . . . 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


329 Wuthcring Heights 10 

438 Villette 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

LUCY RANDALL COMFORT’S WORKS. 

495 Claire’s Love-Life 10 

552 Love at Saratoga 20 

672 Eve, The Factory Girl 20 

716 Black Bell 20 

854 Corisande 20 

907 Three Sewing Girls 20 

1011 His First Love 20 

1133 Nina; or, The Mystery of Love 20 

1192 Vendetta; or, The Southern Heiress 20 

1254 Wild and Wilful 20 

1533 Elfrida; or, A Young Girl’s Love-Story 20 

1708 Love and Jealousy (illustrated) 20 

1810 Married for Money (illustrated) 20 

1829 Only Mattie Garland 20 

1830 Lottie and Victorine; or, Working their Own Way 20 

1834 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl’s Love Story 20 

1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Inez Merivale’s Fortunes 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10 The Woman in White 20 

14 The Dead Secret 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 The Queen of Hearts 20 

38 Antoniua 20 

42 Hide-and-Seek /. 20 

76 The New Magdalen 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 Armadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money 10 

225 The Two Destinies 10 

250 No Name 20 

286 After Dark 10 

409 The Haunted Hotel 10 

433 A Shocking Story 10 

487 A Roerue s Life IP 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY —Ordinary Edition. 


551 The Yellow Mask 

583 Fallen Leaves 20 

654 Poor Miss Finch 20 

675 The Moonstone 20 

696 Jezebel’s Daughter 20 

713 The Captain’s Last Love • • 10 

721 Basil 20 

745 The Magic Spectacles 10 

905 Duel in Herne Wood 10 

928 Who Killed Zebedee? 10 

971 The Frozen Deep 10 

990 The Black Robe 20 

1164 Your Money or Your Life 10 


1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time 20 

1770 Love’s Random Shc)f 10 

1856 “I Say No” 20 

J. FENIMORE COOPER’S WORKS. 


222 Last of the Mohicans 20 

224 The Deerslayer 20 


226 The Pathfinder, 
229 The Pioneers... 
231 The Prairie. . . . 
233 The Pilot 


585 The Water-Witch 20 

590 The Two Admirals 20 

615 The Red Rover 20 

701 Wing-aud*Wing 20 

940 The Spy 20 

1066 The Wyandotte 20 

1257 Afloat and Ashore 20 


1262 Miles Wallingford (Sequel to “Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

1569 The Headsman; or, The Abbaye des Yignerons 20 

1605 The Monikins 20 

1661 The Heidenmauer; or, The Benedictines. A Legend of 

the Rhine 20 

1691 The Crater; or, Vulcan’s Peak. A Tale of the Pacific 20 

CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

20 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

100 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

102 Hard Times • • 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRA RT.~ Ordinary Edition . 


118 Great Expectations 20 

187 David Copperfield 20 

200 Nicholas Nickleby . . . 20 

218 Barnabv Rudge 20 

218 Dombey and Son 20 

239 No Thoroughfare (Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins) .... 10 

247 Martin Ciiuzzlewit 20 

272 The Cricket on the Hearth ... 10 

284 Oliver Twist 20 

289 A Christmas Carol 10 

297 The Haunted Mau 10 

304 Little Dorrit 20 

308 The Chimes. . . . 10 

317 The Battle of Life 10 

325 Our Mutual Friend 20 

337 Bleak House 20 

352 Pickwick Papers 20 

359 Somebody’s Luggage 10 

367 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

372 Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices 10 

375 Mugby Junction 10 

403 Tom Tiddler’s Ground 10 

498 The Uncommercial Traveler 20 

521 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

625 Sketches by Boz . .* 20 

639 Sketches of Young Couples 10 

827 The Mudfog Papers, &c 10 

860 The Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

900 Pictures From Italy 10 

1411 A Child’s History of England 20 

1464 The Picnic Papers 20 

1558 Three Detective Anecdotes, and Other Sketches 10 

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF “ DORA THORNE.” 

449 More Bitter than Death 10 

618 Madolin’s Lover 20 

656 A Golden Dawn 10 

678 A Dead Heart 10 

718 Lord Lynne’s Choice; or, True Love Never Runs Smooth. 10 

746 Which Loved Him Best 20 

846 Dora Thorne 20 

921 At War with Herself - 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition 


931 The Sin of a Lifetime • 2b 

1013 Lady Gwendoline’s Dream 

1018 Wife in Name Only • • • 24 

1044 Like No Other Love 10 

1060 A Woman’s War 10 

1072 Hilary’s Folly 1° 

1074 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

1077 A Gilded Sin 1° 

1081 A Bridge of Love 10 

1085 The Fatal Lilies 10 

1099 Wedded and Parted 10 

1107 A Bride From the Sea 10 

1110 A Rose in Thorns 10 

1115 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

1122 Redeemed by Love 10 

1126 The Story of a Wedding-Ring 10 

1127 Love’s Warfare 20 

1132 Repented at Leisure 20 

1179 From Gloom to Sunlight 20 

1209 Hilda 20 

1218 A Golden Heart 20 

1266 Ingledew House 10 

1288 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

1305 Love For a Day; or, Under the Lilacs 10 

1357 The Wife’s Secret 10 

1393 Two Kisses 10 

1460 Between Two Sins 10 

1640 The Cost of Her Love 20 

1664 Romance of a Black Veil 20 

1704 Her Mother’s Sin 20 

1761 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms • 20 

1844 Fair but False, and The Heiress of Arne 10 

1883 Sunshine and Roses 20 

1906 In Cupid’s Net 10 

ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 

144 The Twin Lieutenants 10 

151 The Russian Gipsy 10 

155 The Count of Mlot\\.g-Cv\&Io {Complete in One Volume ) 20 

160 The Black Tulip 10 

iQf The Queen’s Necklace * 20 



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plates and descriptions will assist every lady in the preparation of 
her wardrobe, both in making new dresses and remodeling old ones. 
The fashions are derived from the best houses and are always prac- 
tical as well as new and tasteful. 

Every lady reader of The New York Fashion Bazar can make 
her own dresses with the aid of Munro’s Bazar Patterns. These are 
carefully cut to measure and pinned into the perfect semblance of the 
garment. They are useful in Itering old as well as in making new 
clothing. 

The Bazar Embroidery Supplements form an important part of 
the magazine. Fancy work is carefully described and illustrated, 
and new patterns given in every number. 

All household matters are fully and interestingly treated. Home 
information, decoration, personal gossip, correspondence, and recipes 
for cooking have each a department. 

Among its regular contributors are Mary Cecil Hay, “ The Duch- 
ess,” author of “ Molly Bawn,” Lucy Randall Comfort, Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora Thorne,” Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 
and Mary E. Bryan. 

The stories published in The New York Fashion Bazar are the 
best that can be had. 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vande water Street, N Y. 



THE CELEBRATED 


SOHMER 


GRAND, SQUAEE AND UPRIGHT PIANOS. 


FIRST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 


Centennial Exntbi- 
tion, 1876; Montreal* 
1881 and 1882. 


The enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 



They are used 
in Conservatc] 
ries. Schools anj 
Seminaries, on a' 
count of their su 
perior tone ant 
unequaled dura 
bility. 

The SOHMEI 
Piano is a specia 
favorite with th 
leading musician 
and critics. 


ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPULAR 

AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, No. 149 to 155 E. 14t li Street , N. Y. 


THE 


“Short Line Limited” 


TO 


St. Paul and Minneapolis. 



THE 


“Shore Line Limited 


TO 


Milwaukee and Waukesha. 


IT TRAVERSES THE MOST DESIRABLE PORTIONS OF 
ILLINOIS, IOWA, NEBRASKA. WISCONSIN, MINNESOTA, DAKOTA 
WYQMIt*G AN& AjpEMEERN MICHIGAN. 


«THE.P 




T-LINEt* 


BETWEEN 

CHICAGO, MILWAUKEE, MADiSON, ST. PAUL, 

•kOAflAHA, QOUNjCIL BLUFFS, DENVER, 

ill 1 PORTLAND, OREGON, 

• J5nd*1Ldl points in the west and northwest. 


MINNEAPOLIS, 
SAN FRANCISCO 


PALACE SLEEPING CARS, PALATIAL DINING CARS 


AND SUPERB DAY COACHES ON THROUGH TRAINS. 


Close Connections in Union Depots with Branch and Connecting Lines 


ALL ACENTS SELL TICKETS VIA THE NORTH-WESTERN. 


New York Office, 409 Broadway. Chicago Office, 62 Clark St. Denver Office, 8 Windsor Hotel Block. 

Boston Office, 5 State Street. Omaha Office, 14 1 1 Farnnm St. San Francisco Office, 2 New Montgomery St 

Minneapolis Office, 13 Meollet House. St. Paul Office, 159 t. Third St. Milwaukee Office, 102 Wisconsin Street. 


R. S. Hair, General Passenger Agent, CHICAGO, ILL. 




















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LIBRARY BINDING 




JAN 1977 

ST. AUGUSTINE 
FLA. 


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